


Something More Than What I Had

by themoonandotherslikeit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bees, Bisexual, Blood, Body Horror, Bugs, Detective!AU, Detective!Cas, Detective!Castiel, Disturbing Material, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gore, LGBTQ, Love, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mystery, Oral, Paralysis, Rookie!Sam, Serial Killer, Slow Burn, Smut, Some Disturbing Scenes, Unsafe Sex, Violence, Writer!Dean, dark!fic, detective!sam, journalist!dean, mention of rape, otp, queer, serial killer!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-24 20:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 72,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20712206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonandotherslikeit/pseuds/themoonandotherslikeit
Summary: Despite his angelic name, Detective Castiel Novak doesn’t believe in God. How could he, after everything that he’s seen in his career? Every criminal that the justice system fails and every person he can’t save chips away at him little by little, until there’s virtually nothing left.When the perps that he couldn’t put away start showing up dead, he is left questioning his job, his relationships (or lack thereof), and God. The only thing that helps is him, the flirtatious journalist, Dean Winchester, who shows Castiel that, despite all of the evil in the world, love will always be the solution.They meet for the first time on a case, the planets aligning in a perfect moment that, unknown to them, is the start of something that will alter their lives forever.





	1. Genesis

**Author's Note:**

> Art by Cryptomoon. Art posts: [Tumblr](https://cryptomoon.tumblr.com/post/188005486907/title-something-more-than-what-i-had-author) & [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806037).  
Beta’d by Thescreechowl and Samatedeansbrocoli

** **

**Part One - Genesis**

_ “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth, and the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. The Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters, and God said, let there be light: and there was light. God saw the light, that it was good, and God divided the light from the darkness.” Genesis 1:1-4 _

* * *

* * *

“I failed. I messed up. I’m sorry,” Castiel gasped, staring at the deep-red blood on his hands. He sat with his ass on his heels, his knees in the standing rainwater with his palms open toward the sky. The falling droplets rolled down his palms, washing the blood off of him and into the dark alleyway. Anxiety crushed his chest like a too-tight hug, and he couldn’t catch his breath no matter how hard he tried. He’d made a mistake, and he knew better than anyone that some mistakes couldn’t be so easily fixed. Some things were impossible to walk away from. He stared at his hands, turning them over to wipe the blood on his slacks, and when he turned them back over, they were soaked in blood again. “Am I bleeding?” He wondered out loud, but his voice sounded wrong, distant, and almost like it belonged to someone else. 

He hadn’t run fast enough. He tried to stand, to get his phone, to call for backup, but he couldn’t. He willed his body to move, and nothing happened. His legs were stone beneath him, simply a place for the bloody rain to roll down and settle on the ground with the vermin and the dirt.

Castiel was able to reach up into his jacket pocket and pull out his badge with great difficulty. His hands were slick from the blood, and he struggled to grip it. The badge was what he had always fought so hard to protect, it was the thing that he stood for, the thing he pledged to uphold. He ran his fingers over it, feeling an emptiness that cracked his chest wide open. The cool, wet air could blow right through him then, bouncing off of his ribs like wind chimes meant to keep ghosts away, but as Castiel held his bleeding badge to his chest, he knew that nothing would keep his ghosts away.

Further past him in the alleyway, past his line of sight, and deep into the darkness, a high pitched scream cut through the night air like a blade. The badge fell from his hands, clattering to the ground, and as it fell, Castiel fell with it. He could feel the tug of gravity in his chest as he plummeted through the rainwater, down into the asphalt, until he hit the bottom, and his eyes flew open.

He sat straight up in bed, holding his hand to his chest. He could feel the rapid thumping of his heart as he came down from the dream. The scream, he knew then, wasn’t a scream at all. His cell phone sat on the bedside table ringing angrily, desperate for attention. He squinted at the clock, the glowing numbers alerted him that it was ten minutes until six o’clock in the morning. He picked up his phone, pinching the bridge of his nose. He already had a headache forming. “Detective Novak.”

“Novak, getting that beauty sleep?”

Castiel cleared his throat, needing to scratch the itch deep inside of his neck from sleep. “No, Captain. What can I do for you?”

“I have a case for you. It’s a perfect first case for Winchester. So once you get your prince to kiss you so you can get your ass out of bed, meet us at the scene. I’ll send you the address.”

_ Click_.

Castiel groaned, letting his phone fall back onto the cushion of his comforter. He rarely slept. The importance of a good night's rest wasn’t something that made the list of important things to be communicated to Police Academy Cadets. Ever since he’d been promoted to Detective, it all had gotten so much worse. He considered wearing some kind of concealer under his eyes to keep the dark bags from wearing him down. As it turned out though, no amount of pushing something away would keep it from existing. Life didn’t work out quite like that, as much as he wanted it to.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and drug himself to his closet. His coffee machine worked on a timer, so most mornings he was woken up by seductive smell of freshly brewed coffee. That morning, however, he was up well before his alarm, which left the pot empty and cold. He slid open his closet doors, squinting into the darkness at his clothes, wondering why the hell he had picked his job, his life. He could’ve been a telephone operator, a personal designer, repair man, hell, anything that would keep him from getting calls about death first thing in the morning. He pulled out a random button-up shirt and khaki slacks.

It was all too often that people sleep walked through their lives, and Castiel never wanted to be that kind of person, but he also had no control over himself before his morning coffee.

He slipped into his slacks, buttoned his shirt, attached his suspenders, and tied his best blue striped tie, flattening it against his chest in the bathroom mirror. Changing from Castiel into Detective Novak was a transformation. As he looked at himself in the mirror, tired eyes, and messy hair, he felt like he was playing dress up. He clipped his badge to his hip and squeezed some hair product into his hands to tame the madness. After brushing his teeth, spritzing cologne, and a trip to the coffee cart on the way there, Detective Novak exited his vehicle at the crime scene. It was taped off and the forensic techs were already hard at work examining the evidence.

His young partner, Sam Winchester, stood awkwardly outside the tape. His plaid button up was wrinkled, and the collar stuck up on one side. At twenty-three years old, the kid was the youngest detective that the sixty-sixth precinct had seen since Castiel was promoted four years earlier. It was impressive then that they gave a twenty-six year old kid a shot like that, but from what Captain Singer had said, Winchester was something else altogether. He was a natural, but by looking at him Castiel would never have guessed. Winchester was green, and in his experience, that was what got people killed.

The kid towered over him at a very tall six foot three, so when Castiel approached he turned up his chin to try to make up for the extra five inches. “Are you enjoying watching everyone else work, Rookie?”

Sam turned toward him, looking like he was seconds from jumping out of his skin. He ran his fingers through his shoulder length hair and offered a smile. The top two buttons of his plaid shirt were undone, and he wore his badge on a chain around his neck. _ At least his shirt is tucked in, _Castiel thought bitterly. 

“No, I was just waiting for you.”

“Good. Let’s get to work.” He took a sip from his coffee before ducking under the crime scene tape. He approached the body of a young woman. She laid flat on her back, her ankle swollen and bruised, her dark hair splayed out in a puddle of standing rainwater. The red smear of lipstick looked jarring against her pale, blueing skin. She stared directly at Castiel, her eyes open in an accusing stare, framed by running mascara. No matter how many bodies he saw in his years on the job, he was never prepared for the eyes. It was haunting to look into glassy, unblinking eyes, their faces still holding the same expression as when they saw the person about to kill them. 

His eyes flickered to Winchester to gauge his reaction to the body. The kid had his notepad out and was already scribbling furiously, his eyes bouncing from the scene back to his pad as he took everything in. 

“Eileen,” Castiel said out loud, waving his hand slightly to catch the crime scene tech’s attention. 

“Novak,” she responded, her fingers curling into a D shape that circled above her heart, signing the word for detective. Castiel didn’t pretend to know more sign language that he did, but since Eileen had been hired a few months previously, he was picking up on it more and more. 

“What do you have for us?” He asked her, making sure to enunciate. 

She glanced up at Winchester and smirked a bit, her eyes not leaving him as she held out her palms, flipping them, and moved her right hand to her cheek swiping it backwards. Castiel stared at her blankly, recognizing the first sign for _ dead_, but not much else. She let out a breathless laugh when she caught the look on Castiel’s face: his mouth curled into an annoyed scowl, it was a look that said, _ continue_.

“Female, age eighteen to twenty-one, cause of death was a stab wound.” She gestured to the victims bloody midsection on her too-small black dress. Parts were still wet, which told Castiel that there was a lot of blood. “Time of death was in the last five hours. I will have more once I get back to the lab.”

“Did she have identification?” Winchester asked, his pen still pressed to his pad. 

“Not that I saw, but she did have this,” Eileen said, squatting down. She pointed a gloved finger to a discount store necklace resting on her collarbone that read _ Trixie_. 

Castiel winced at the sound of his partners pencil scratching against paper and shot him a look. “Winchester do you mind? This isn’t creative writing class at the community center. Why don’t you pay attention?” He snapped. 

She put her index finger to her lips and slashed it downward through the air. “_Really_?” 

“I don’t know if either of you noticed, but we have a dead woman here. A homicide. That requires focus,” he grouched, still feeling unbelievably sluggish from his lack of coffee. 

He didn’t have a steady partner for years. He never found anyone that clicked with him since he’d been a rookie himself, and the constant revolving door of officers kept his patience short. He looked at Winchester, expecting him to falter, but he didn’t. Instead, he closed his pad and slid it into his back pocket. “Have you looked through her purse?” 

Eileen shook her head. “Not yet.” 

Winchester squatted down, and pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of his pocket, sliding them onto his oversized hands. He carefully picked up the purse to examine the inside. “Just as I suspected.” 

“What is it?” Castiel asked, taking a sip of his now-cold coffee. 

“She’s a prostitute,” the kid said, turning to Eileen to make sure she could read his lips. 

Eileen grinned widely and repeated the same brushing motion on her cheek that she did a moment before. “I thought so, too.” 

“Is that the sign?”

She nodded, and the kid copied her motion, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink. Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. _ Flirting at a crime scene on his first day? The kid is too soft, he won’t last a week on the job. _“What brings you to that conclusion?” 

The kid opened the purse wider to show him the contents. There was a strip of rubbers, lubricant, and a leopard print pepper spray canister. 

“This is all circumstantial. She could just be promiscuous.” 

A smile grew on Winchester’s dimpled cheeks, and his eyes caught the light of the rising sun, giving them a mischievous glint. “You’re right, but that isn’t what tipped me off. This is.” He slid a card out of the bag and handed it to Castiel. It was a small square piece of paper only a few square inches. It was matte black with patent black words that read _ non tiembo mala_. 

“I fear no evil,” he whispered, his mouth suddenly dry. 

“I had a friend who worked in sex crimes at my old precinct. Girls who turn tricks will give it to potential clients to let them know that they are open for business.”

Castiel pressed his lips together in a hard line, glancing at Eileen and fingerspelling _ DNA_? She shook her head in response. He let out a sigh before catching the empty stare of the hooker at his feet. She was just another victim to the streets of the city. Just one more person that he couldn’t save. 

_ Later that day _

Castiel was chain smoking cigarette after cigarette in the alleyway behind the precinct, as if he would find the answers to the world's questions in a puff of smoke. The air was brisk against the burn from the smoke in his lungs. They hadn’t been back at the precinct long, and he was already so fucking tired. Despite the obvious ramifications, on days like this, he could see the appeal of picking up a bad habit or two. Just when the coffee couldn’t cut it. 

The creak of the rusting, metal door to the precinct opening alerted him that his alone time had just run out. 

The kid poked his head out of the door into the alleyway, his wide eyes and floppy hair making him look like a goddamn puppy. “Detective Novak?” 

“What do you want, Rookie?”

“I was hoping we could talk about the case...” Winchester stepped all the way out into the alleyway, his hands immediately shoved back into his pockets. 

“Oh,” he grunted, his blue eyes flickering back to the rookie. He squinted at him through an exhale of smoke. Castiel ran his fingers through his messy, dark hair before continuing. “There is no case. Captain gave us a cold one for your first run. We have to keep you humble.” His tongue ran along his bottom lip before taking another long drag, the end of his cigarette glowing against the brick of the building and the dark, overcast sky.

The kid shot him a dumbfounded look, his eyebrows up and his mouth hanging open. “So we aren’t going to look for her killer?”

“She’s a whore with no identification and a fake name, killed in a city of 8.6 billion. There’s no evidence at the scene. Not exactly worth the resources.”

Winchester clenched his hands into fists at his side, his fingers turning white from the pressure. “How can you say that? You aren’t even going to try? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Castiel flicked his cigarette away, stepping on it with the toe of his dress shoe. How could he explain it? He was no mentor. He wasn’t this kid’s father. Life was fucking cruel, and the sooner the kid learned that, the better off he would be. “You’ve got a bleeding heart.”

“Don’t you?” He spat. “If you’re not in this to help people, then why are you?”

This always proved to be the hardest part for Castiel. Empathy. Talking to victims’ families trying to explain. _ All we are is dust in the wind, _wasn’t exactly a comforting answer to most grieving people. He put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “You’ll learn eventually, so I may as well tell you now... we can’t save them all. We can’t bring them all to justice. The world is a dark place, Rookie.”

His partner jerked away from his touch. “You think I don’t know that? Just because I’m new to homicide, doesn’t mean I’m new to the police force. I know the world is dark, Novak, the part I can’t wrap my mind around is why you’d be willing to give up before you even tried. That just seems really fucking lazy.”

Castiel watched the young detective turn away from him and push through the door in an exasperated huff, back into the precinct. The door groaned as it slowly shut, fighting against the weight and rust. 

He ran his hands over his face once he was alone again. He didn’t want to crush the kid, but he’d seen enough of these cases to know that there was no rest for the wicked. They’d mull over the case for weeks until they’d finally have to leave it cold, so why not just skip to the end?

He dug in his pocket to pull out another cigarette, just to find the box empty. “Shit,” he muttered, fingering the opening of the box. It was lacking just like his leads, just like his heart. There’d be no good coming from him without another smoke. No clarity from the haze. He slid the box back into his pocket, for the sake of consistency, and walked back into the precinct.

It was bustling, like usual. Cops squishing past other cops, trying to file, take statements, drink stale coffee. Castiel rolled up the sleeves on his plain white button up and released his tie from around his neck. He shoved it haphazardly into the bottom drawer of his desk.

“Castiel,” Charlie the office assistant said, leaning into Castiel’s desk, only moments after he collapsed into his chair. “What’s new, Scooby Doo?”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“Come on, Cranky. _ Smile_.” She grinned widely as an example.

“Don’t feel like it.”

Charlie perched herself on the edge of his desk, tossing her right leg over her left. “You don’t like the rookie?”

“He’s just a kid. Not much to like.”

“But he’s cute, right?” She eyed him. “I’m gay, but I can see it from a mile away.”

“He’s my partner.” Castiel's eyes widened at the accusation, anxiety suddenly bubbling in his chest.

“Don’t be a prude, Grandma.” She teased, poking his chest.

He couldn’t help but smile at that. He watched her twisting her Harry Potter ring around her finger. He couldn’t resist Charlie’s charms, they were two sides of the same coin, and she tended to bring out the best in him. “I’m not a prude,” he defended with a smile. “I’m a professional.”

“Sure, that’s why you won’t eye the ass of the cute new detective, but what’s your excuse for all the rest of the prudish activity?”

“What prudish activity?” Castiel spun his pen through his fingers.

“First of all,” Charlie said, adjusting his suspenders. “You dress like an eighty year old man.”

“That’s hurtful.” He poked out his bottom lip in an almost pout, knowing full well that she wasn’t wrong. 

“Second of all, you never go out on dates. Not since...”

“Don’t,” Castiel said, shooting out a hand in warning. Charlie paused, her bottom lip between her teeth. He sighed and offered her a smile as a white flag. It wasn’t her fault, after all. He couldn’t blame her for not living in the past, just because he continued to. “You know I don’t need to date. I’m already married.”

Charlie met his smile with relief and apology. “Oh really? Since when? To who?”

“I’m married to my job.” Castiel tilted his head to the side with a big shit-eating grin.

“Fuck off.”

“Novak, Bradbury,” Captain Singer barked from his office. “You two like to fuck around, or would you like to get your jobs done?”

“Aw Bobby, don’t be so cranky,” Charlie whined, giving Castiel a look that said _ see ya later, wish me luck_, before she hustled back to her desk. “Reporting for duty!”

Castiel redirected his attention to the papers on his desk, shaking his head with a smile still present on his lips. 

He opened the case file that he had the kid prepare when they got back to the precinct. Castiel ran his fingers over the picture of the woman laying out in the street, his heart aching._ Trixie Knight, female, age nineteen, deceased. _His partner thought he was heartless, but in reality he cared. He cared a lot, but he was also a realist. He saw so much death in his job that it was hard to be positive. It was hard to see the light in all the darkness. 

He shut the file, to keep Trixie’s eyes off of him, and glanced at the rookie sitting at his desk. The kid was pouring over the files, his long hair falling into his face. He looked serious, concerned, his forehead was wrinkled, and his tongue was barely poking out as he focused on the information in front of him. He flipped through his own notepad that he’d been furiously scribbling in that morning, before throwing it in the wastebasket next to his desk with a force that made the plastic can shake. Castiel watched the rookie pinch the bridge of his nose, looking way too much like his mentor in that moment, and he sighed in response, stood up, and walked to Winchester’s desk. “Hey, Rookie.”

“What do you want, Novak?” He asked begrudgingly, not bothering to look up at Castiel. If he was being honest, he deserved the cold shoulder.

“Take a break, kid. You look like you need some joe.”

“Got some.” He gestured weakly to the coffee maker.

“How about some coffee worth having?” Castiel asked, with a raised eyebrow. The precinct coffee did in a pinch, but if the kid was having the same kind of day that he was, it wouldn’t be enough.

“You gonna try to talk me out of working this case?”

“No,” Castiel said after a moment, with a heavy sigh. “Despite my better judgement, I’m going to help you. Let’s go, before I change my mind.”

His puppy ears perked up at that, and he quickly stood up, gathering up his materials. Castiel wasn’t sure exactly when he decided to help the kid. It had to be somewhere in between being called fucking lazy and his hair falling in those puppy eyes. There was something special about a young cop, and Castiel could see that light in him. The same light that the job had put out in himself long ago. 

The two men made their way to Castiel’s second favorite coffee shop, apart from the cart outside of the precinct. “I like this place. It’s secluded, local. Not too busy,” Castiel explained as they pushed into the shop, the bell above the door alerting their arrival. They ordered two coffees, his an Americano, strong, and the rookie’s with almond milk.

His partner smiled at him. “You like to be alone, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Why?” 

They settled down in the back of the coffee shop. It smelled like freshly brewed coffee and buttered scones. The lighting was low, and the walls were covered in old books. It felt cozy and much too sentimental for someone like Castiel to frequent, but he supposed that was why he liked it. “If I’m around other people, then that’s just one more person to disappoint,” Castiel admitted. “Usually I prefer to only disappoint myself.” He blew the steam off his coffee before taking a sip.

“Bet you’re thrilled to have me around, then.” Winchester smiled widely. “Honestly, Novak, I think you’ve got it all wrong. Other people can lift you up. I have a brother, and he’s been nothing but great for me.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “You have a brother?” He had siblings, but he didn’t talk to them, or about them. His life in the force was an all consuming one, and it was easier to just let it consume him than to try to juggle a family as well. 

“Yeah,” he said, pouring copious amounts of sugar into his coffee. “He practically raised me, and once our Dad died, he moved in with me. Guess it’s my turn to take care of him, but that’s what family does. We take care of each other.”

“That must be nice,” Castiel said genuinely. Watching the kid, he decided that he couldn’t quite crush him. Maybe Castiel wasn’t as cold as everyone made him out to be.

“And you know, if you let me, I could have your back, too. I’m actually pretty good at it. Isn’t that what partners are for?”

Castiel nodded knowingly, pulling the case file out of his bag. The kid was soft, with a bleeding heart, and unrealistic ideals, but as much as he hated to admit it, Sam Winchester was growing on him. “That is the idea.” 

He opened up the file, closing the conversation. It was all a little too touchy feely for his liking; getting emotionally involved only complicated things. It’s why he never bothered with a dog, or a boyfriend. So he got to work, his eyes scanning the information again. The markings on the victim. The toxicology report. He squinted at the words, as if something on the page could jump out at him if he just looked from a different angle. 

He wasn’t sure how long they’d sat there, letting their coffees grow colder, before the kid spoke up. “Hey, Novak?” 

“Can I help you?” Castiel grouched instinctively. 

His partner recoiled a bit, his hair falling back into his eyes. Castiel resisted an eye roll, because the damn kid looked like a Disney Princess with his hair in his eyes and his soft smile. If he was going to be taken seriously, he needed to get a goddamn hair cut. “I was just…” He let out a sigh and pushed his hair behind his ear. 

“Just spit it out, kid.” 

Sam’s eyes met his. “I was just wondering what happened when you were new, I heard there was a case, and it was bad, but no one would tell me what it was. They said I should ask you, so I guess I’m asking.” 

Castiel’s eyes flickered back down to the file in front of him, his hands immediately sweating. How was he supposed to move on if he was always moving backward? He reached forward and tapped the back of his partner’s laptop. “Get back to research, Rookie. No sense in going over old cases when there is a murder that needs to be solved now. We are partners, not girlfriends. No need to talk about our feelings.” 

His chest was tight, his heart thrumming against his ribcage angrily. He could still hear his name echoing through the dark alley, feel the rain water on his cheek, and smell the blood like he was there. 

_ Cas, get the fuck out of here! _

Castiel shuddered, a chill running up his spine as his eyes settled on the eyes of the prostitute. It was a long time ago, but he still felt like he’d never get over it. _ Time heals all wounds. _ What a fucking joke. 

_ Later that night _

Dean Winchester sat at his writing desk in the living room of his apartment with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He’d been staring at his typewriter for the better part of an hour, and he was moments away from throwing in the towel when the lock on the front door turned, and his brother pushed into the apartment. “Sammy,” Dean said relieved, taking a sip of his whiskey.

“Hey, Dean. You’re still up,” Sam commented, taking his wallet and phone out of his pocket and resting it on the counter. His badge hung around his neck, forgotten. “What are you working on?”

“Article about the prostitute,” Dean grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “At least, I’m tryin’ to. Inspiration ain’t exactly on my side.” 

“Jesus, man. She isn’t even in the ground yet.”

“Whatever, kid. This is your debut case! We are gonna frame this thing,” he grinned, taking another swig of whiskey. 

Sam rolled his eyes, flashing his perfected bitch face, setting down his coffee mug. His brother looked tired with his long hair pushed behind his ears. He was growing a patchy beard along his jawline, and his green eyes were red along the edges from lack of sleep. “Pour me one? I need to wind down.”

_ “Watch out for Sammy,” _his father had said, from his withered hospital bed, gripping Dean’s shirt. He’d looked at his oldest son desperately, so much so, that Dean had to nod. He had to agree. He had to come home.

Ever since the day John Winchester died, the two brothers had lived in the same cramped apartment in New York City. After the funeral, Dean packed his one duffle bag and squeezed into the second bedroom in his brother’s already-cramped apartment. It was a miracle that both of the over-six-foot-tall men could fit, but if they were being honest, they liked being close. It reminded them of their shared space in the motel rooms growing up. After their mom died, John packed up his boys and ran. He never stopped running until the day he died.

The ex-marine’s body was littered with cancer. He was sick and delusional on his deathbed, with piss covered sheets. Dean watched his father deteriorate in front of him, his mind playing tricks on him. He treated Dean like he was still a kid. _Protect Sammy _was their mantra growing up, as if Dean needed any more reminders. It was always his job to take care of his little brother. It wasn’t something he needed to be told. _ “We watch out for family, son. No matter the cost.” _

“You were out late,” Dean pointed out, as he poured his little brother a glass of whiskey to match his own. “Business or pleasure?”

“Business,” Sam grunted.

“Is Novak still refusing to work on the case?” He pressed the glass back to his lips. His brother had called him earlier in the day to complain about his partner, and Dean quickly decided that the detective was on his shit list. 

_ “He’s just an ass! He is going to let that poor girl rot in the ground in an unmarked grave, Dean! Where’s his sense of goodness, of light? He isn’t even going to bother,” _Sam spilled into the phone.

_ “Seriously? I bet you can get him written up for that, Sammy. Not saying to be a narc, but that’s pretty fucked up.” _

_ “Isn’t it? I’m just going to work it anyway. I don’t give a shit what he says. This is why I became a cop. I’m not going to just roll over.” _

_ “Don’t roll over! You know what’s right. Maybe you can teach him a thing or two.” _

“Actually, I think I got him to come around.” Sam grinned proudly, and Dean could see him, like he was six years old again, holding his macaroni art like he was fucking Picasso.

“Of course you did, kid. I knew you could. It’s those puppy dog eyes you’ve got,” Dean said before poking his finger between his brothers eyes. “Can’t say no to ‘em.”

Both brothers’ interest in murder came early in life, and Dean figured that it was due to their mom. When he was four years old, and Sammy was six months old, she was murdered. It was arson, but there was something else, something sinister. The police suspected foul play, but they were never able to get a real suspect. The case went cold, and so did their relationship with their father. It was Mary Winchester that held their fragile house of cards together. Without her it quickly folded, fluttering to the floor. She brought peace to the fears that John brought home with him from his stint with the Marines. Every night when she put Dean to bed she would kiss his head and tell him that angels were watching over him. After Mary died, Dean stopped believing in angels. They all did.

Sam stared into his glass for several beats, looking like he got lost in the liquor. “You okay, man?” Dean asked his brother, as he pulled the pages out of his typewriter, tossing them in the trash in defeat.

“Fine,” he grunted in return, looking up at Dean. “Just tired.”

“That partner of yours working you too hard? You won’t age pretty if you don’t sleep, Sam.”

“I don’t get the impression that Novak sleeps much, honestly.” Sam rubbed his eyes. “And he’s plenty pretty. The coffee cart girl always writes her number on the side of his cup, and he never notices. Not sure if he’s just focused, or if it’s because of all the shit he’s seen. I kind of think that’s why he’s such a grouch.” 

“Aww, Sammy do you have a little crush?”

Sam swatted Dean’s hand away with feigned annoyance. “The case is getting interesting, though, we found out that the girl had been missing. Her name was Amara, and she was really young when she was taken. We suspect she was a part of a sex ring... we are just waiting for the mother to come down to ID her.”

“Shit,” Dean said, finishing his whiskey and pouring another one. “The world is... shit it’s so fucked up, Sammy. You really want to see this all day?”

“You really want to write about it?” He countered.

Dean shrugged in response. “I think it’s my responsibility to bring some kind of justice to an unjust world.”

“Me too,” Sam said with a nod.

There was something unspoken between the brothers, a promise: to bring the justice their mother hadn't received to others. The difference between them, though, was that Sam’s hands were tied by the system in a way that Dean’s were not.

“So what happens then? Any leads on the guy who took her?”

“We have a few ideas, but nothing concrete. This is interesting, though,” Sam commented, pulling out his phone. He held it out, showing his brother an image he took from the crime scene.

Dean squinted at the screen, a raised, pink scar against pale skin. “Is that... is that a _ brand_?”

“Yeah, an old one. It’s healed into her skin. I don’t recognize the symbol, but we think her pimp may have branded her. It’s not much of a lead, but it’s something.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Dean examined the image on his brother’s phone more closely, feeling a familiar pit grow in her stomach. “Sammy, I think I recognize this.” He ran his fingers over the symbol. A circle with a line through one end. The line was halfway through the circle and halfway out of it.

“What? Really? From where?”

“A club... it was, fuck, it was on one of the waitresses.”

“On her like...”

“Just like this, on her hip. I assumed it was a weird body modification thing.”

“Dean.” Sam met his eyes. “What club?”

“Crossroads. It’s called Crossroads.”

Sam pulled out his phone and dialed a number, clicking the phone to speaker.

A rough voice broke through the static after two rings. “Rookie, tell me why you’re calling me at one o’clock in the morning?” The hair on the back of Dean’s neck stood up at the sound of rough sleep in the detective’s voice. He sounded annoyed, still slurred with sleep. 

“I have a lead.”

“You’re still working on the case? You should be in bed, kid. Let’s talk in the morning.”

“Don’t hang up, Castiel!”

He groaned in response. “What do you want, Winchester?”

“I want us to go check out this lead. My brother recognized the brand from a nightclub he’s been to.”

“You’re showing classified pieces of a case to someone who isn’t an officer? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Rookie.”

“Can you get off your high horse for five minutes?” Sam groaned, pacing through the living room, stepping over Dean’s discarded boots. “Let’s just check it out.”

“We can go tomorrow.”

“No we can’t. It’s a nightclub. You know, only open at night.”

There was silence on the line before Castiel let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. What’s the club?”

“Crossroads.”

“I’ll meet you there.” 

_ Click_. 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Meeting Detective Cranky at the club?” _ This should be interesting. _

“Apparently. Guess I better switch to coffee,” Sam said, dumping his whiskey down the sink. “How long has this been sitting out?” He pulled out the coffee pot.

“What time did you leave this morning?”

“Six thirty.”

“Since six thirty .”

“Great.” Sam laughed dryly before pouring himself a cup anyway.

“I’ll be ready in fifteen.” There was no way in hell that Dean was missing this. 

“You? You’re not coming. He’s already pissed that I showed you the picture.”

“I’m _ definitely _ coming. I got you the lead.” He poked his brother’s nose with a smile. “You need me.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You love it.”

“I don’t, but fine. Come. You know the club, you could be helpful, but you’ve gotta leave the journalist hat at home.”

Dean put his hands up, palms out. “I hear ya, Sammy. We are all good.” He smiled widely, miming taking off a hat and sitting it on the couch. “Now, you’ve gotta change. You look like a cop.”

“I am a cop,” Sam complained.

“You don’t want to look like one in a place like that.” He patted his brother's shoulder. “We leave in ten.”

_ A half hour later _

The club was busy. Asses and elbows, according to Dean Winchester. “Let’s get a drink!” He shouted, slapping his brother’s back. They didn’t go out together enough, and with the familiar smell of sweat and alcohol mixed with the bass vibrating through the floor, Dean was in the mood for some fun. Murder or no murder. 

“I’m on duty, Dean.”

“You need to loosen up, big guy.”

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed his hair behind his ears. “I need to wait for Novak.”

“Uh huh. Well, I’m getting a shot. Stay where you are. I’ll be right back.”

Sam waved at his brother dismissively, and Dean pushed through the crowd. The beat of the music from the DJ was pulsing perfectly in sync with his heartbeat. “I’ll have a shot of Jack,” Dean said when he made it to the bar.

The bartender nodded and turned to pour the drink.

Dean leaned into the bar and spotted a man next to him, who was turned away from him watching the dance floor. His hair was messy and dark. He wore a dark blue button up with rolled up sleeves. Dean raised an eyebrow; the guy looked good from behind, and Dean was just buzzed enough to notice. “You need a shot?”

He turned to look at Dean, his eyebrows were drawn together in annoyance, but even in the darkness of the club Dean could see his crystal blue eyes glowing with the reflection of the strobe light. His full lips were pressed in a tight line.

“Oh, Sweetheart you _ definitely _ need a shot,” Dean said, eyeing him up. He gestured to the bartender. “He will have a tequila shot. Actually, make it two.” He winked.

“No offense, uh...”

“Dean.”

“No offense, Dean, but I’m not here for that.”

Dean half expected a _ not tonight _ added to the end of the man's sentence, but his deep, rough voice halted with a sharp _ that_. “Aw, that’s a shame,” he admitted flirtatiously. “Because blue is really your color.”

The bartender slid him the three shots he’d ordered.

“I’m sure you can get some other poor sap to take your free alcohol,” the man said cooly, his eyes never leaving Dean’s.

Dean took the shot without breaking eye contact, the whiskey sliding down his throat. There was an electricity in their gaze. “I’d rather you take it.” He slid the shot toward the man slowly. “I want to see how you swallow.”

The man’s eyes widened at Dean’s remark, and his mouth opened to respond, as Sam slid in next to them. “Sorry, Novak, I didn’t see your text until just now... Oh! I see you already met my brother, he, uh, thought he could be helpful to the investigation since he’s been here before.”

“_Novak _?” His heart dropped through his stomach, past the barstool, and right into the ground with a splat that rang out in his head so loud that he was sure everyone else could hear it. 

“You’re Dean _ Winchester_?” The detective asked flatly, staring at him, as Dean held the tequila shot between his fingers, looking like a complete fucking idiot.

“Yeah and you’re… you’re my little brother’s partner.”

“Looks like I am.”

They stared at each other hard, and Dean debated whether or not he should erase the past five minutes from his mind. It would likely be better that way.

“Did I interrupt something?” Sam asked, shifting his weight, his eyes bouncing between the two men.

“No,” Novak said suddenly, tearing his eyes away from Dean. “He was just offering me a drink while on the job. I don’t feel that’s professional, so I declined.”

His brother shot Dean a look, and he shrugged in response. “Cas, uh, I brought Dean along because he recognized the brand from another woman who was at this club,” Sam explained.

“How often do you frequent here, Dean?” Cas asked, sending a shiver up Dean’s spine as he heard his name drawn out on the detectives tongue.

“A few times. Not much,” he admitted. “But every time I’ve come, I’ve seen the girl.”

“Hm.”

“Do you see her now?” Sam asked. “It’d be good if we could question her about the mark.”

Dean had to peel his eyes away from the detective’s, he knew that he’d easily drown within them if he wasn’t careful. Sam wasn’t kidding when he said that Cas was pretty. He looked like one of those television cops. He could’ve gotten the world with batting his long eyelashes, but he chose to do this instead. It took everything in Dean to pull his eyes away from the detective, but after a second, he swallowed hard and scanned the room for the girl. “I don’t know, man. It’s really packed.”

“I thought you could help,” Castiel snapped.

“I can...”

“It isn’t right for Sam to bring you here. We don’t involve civilians in murder cases. Your brother should know better.”

“Sammy made the right call,” Dean said, narrowing his eyes, annoyance flaring in his chest. Pretty or not, Castiel Novak was a dick. “I can help, just, Christ, give me a second.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow and allowed a brief pause so Dean could scan the room again.

“_Bingo_.” He swallowed both tequila shots without a second thought as his eyes landed on a curvy blonde in a red strappy dress. Castiel’s spine seemed to straighten in response. Dean pushed away from the bar and through the crowd.

“Krystal,” Dean said, leaning against the wall on his arm above the blonde’s head. 

“Dean!” Krystal squealed, throwing her arms around his shoulders. He planted his feet on the ground solidly so she didn’t knock him over, his hands embracing her back. “I’ve been wondering where you’ve been. You haven’t visited me in awhile.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat up. His eyes flickered over her shoulder and landed on the blue eyed detective. _ Castiel_. 

“Can I get you a drink?” She asked him as she pulled back from the hug, her dark eyes reflecting his image under her long false eyelashes. 

“I’m good.” He offered her his best smile before scratching the back of his head, awkwardly trying to change the subject. “Actually Sweetheart, we uh... we’ve gotta ask you a few questions.”

“We?” Krystal frowned, turning to see Sam and Castiel flash their badges. 

“Detective Novak and Winchester. If you don’t mind.”

“What?” She squeaked, looking around for a quick exit. “No... I’m sorry. I can’t talk to the police...” She turned to Dean, her eyes pleading. 

“I’d hate to have to take you in for questioning,” Sam said low, his eyes meeting hers. “Please, this is important. You’re not in trouble.”

She glanced to Dean and he nodded. “Did you know a young woman named Trixie?”

“What?”

Both men slid their badges back into their pockets. “Trixie Knight?” Sam brought out his phone and flashed her a picture of Trixie’s face.

“Of course I know her. She works here,” Krystal said anxiously, her eyes locked on Sam’s. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

“She’s dead,” Castiel said flatly.

Dean turned to the detective immediately. “Dude, _ really_?” 

“_Dead_? She can’t be dead, I just talked to her…” All of the color drained from Krystal’s face, and her body swayed slightly, her hand covering her mouth as if to keep something in. “Oh my god, I think I’m going to be sick.” 

He grabbed ahold of Krystal’s elbows to keep her upright. “It’s okay, Sweetheart, I’ve got you.” He shot the detective another dirty look, before tending to Krystal. “Shh, you’re okay.” 

Dean noticed Castiel shift his weight as he watched Dean care for the troubled girl. He looked uncomfortable, to say the least. “Do you know anyone who would want to hurt her?”

“I...” She burst into tears. “I’m sorry, I just can’t believe this.” She turned stiffly in Dean’s arms, burying her face in his chest, curling her fingers into his shirt. 

“Hey. I’ve got you. Take your time.” Dean rubbed circles on her back.

The four of them settled into a booth in the back of the club, and Sam provided Krystal with a glass of water, while Dean tried to calm her down. After taking a second to catch her breath, she was ready to talk. “I shouldn’t be talking to you,” she began, “but I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.” Her voice was small and trembling. 

“She had the same mark,” Dean said carefully, tapping the spot of Krystal’s scar. “I don’t suppose that’s a coincidence, is it Krissy?”

She shook her head. “No... it... it’s not.”

“Was she a prostitute?” Novak asked her.

“Jesus,” Dean said, glancing at Castiel. “Not one for subtly, are you?”

“No,” he said, his eyes stuck on Krystal. “It is essential that we know.”

“What gave it away?” She asked, her eyes not meeting the detectives. “Was it the condoms in her purse, her too-high heels, or the fact that she wasn’t wearing panties? What part of that makes her expendable to you, Detective?”

“None of it,” Sam assured her. “We just need the full story. We are trying to find out what happened to your friend, Krystal. We believe she may have been kidnapped when she was a child.”

She was wringing her fingers, popping her knuckles, and avoiding the detective’s eyes.

“You can trust us, Krissy. We are just trying to protect you,” Dean whispered against her hair, taking her hand in his. He gave her fingers a supportive squeeze. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Ya hear?” 

“Yes,” she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper. Her cheeks were bright pink, and she looked down, covering her face from view. “Trixie knew that she was taken, obviously, but she was in the game for so long, when The King loosened his leash on her... she felt ruined. Like she could never go back to her family. She always said the darkness swallowed her whole.”

The Winchester brother’s exchanged a look. _ Darkness_.

“Your pimp,” Dean began. “Did he do this to you?” His hand pressed to her brand again.

“Yes. Just another way to prove how ruined we are. How we are stuck inside of this life. We can’t ever escape, Dean. We just can’t.”

“Is the motherfucker here? I’ll kill him,” Dean said low. His blunt nails dug into his palms as he curled his fingers into a fist. Krissy was nice. She was a good girl, had some serious Daddy issues, but Dean figured they all did. She wanted to be a nurse for god sakes. 

“Dean, no,” Sam said quietly, before meeting Krystal’s eyes. The fear in her reaction told them all they needed to know. The man was there. He was close.

“Do you think he killed her?” She asked Sam.

“Do you?”

“She wanted out. She wanted to go home... I don’t think she ever said it to him, but she wasn’t exactly hiding it. If he ever found out, he wouldn’t have liked it.” Krystal’s eyes flickered up over Sam’s shoulder, her eyes widening, and she sucked her breath in, like the wind was knocked right out of her chest.

The three men turned and followed her gaze. On top of the staircase leading to the private VIP lounge a man stood in a dark Armani suit. He stroked his beard once before pressing his glass to his lips. His eyes were scanning the room.

“Motherfucker,” Dean whispered, flying out of his seat before he had a chance to think it through.

“Dean, stop!” Sam said, but he was a moment too late. His brother was already pushing through the crowd, disappearing in the sea of people. The music was pulsing, the crowd moving together to the beat. It vibrated in Dean’s ears. He barely heard his brother and Novak yelling after him. He was laser focused on the douche at the top of the stairs.

He made it to the man leagues before the two detectives. “Hey, you run the place?” Dean asked him with a wicked smile, breathless from running up the stairs.

The man raised an eyebrow, curiously eyeing Dean, amber liquor sloshing in his glass as he raised it to his lips. “Who is asking?”

“Dean Winchester, and you are?”

“Crowley.”

“Just Crowley?”

“Like Cher, or _ God_.” Crowley pursed his lips, he looked fucking amused, and it lit Dean up even more. 

He flexed his fingers at his side, seriously considering knocking the smug expression right off his face. “Well, _ Just Crowley_, you like to fuck up girls? Brand ‘em, maybe murder them when they get in your way?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Crowley’s eyes narrowed on Dean. It was a challenge to make him back off. A man like that could ruin Dean, but in that moment he didn’t care. There was one girl dead already and many more to follow if they didn’t get justice.

“I think you do.” Dean’s eyes locked on the glass in Crowley’s hand. A gold ring sat on his right ring finger, barely glinting in the strobe. A circle with a line through it. The same image as the brand. All Dean saw was red. “Motherfucker, I’ll _ kill _ you!” He didn’t know where the rage came from, he wasn’t exactly a violent person, but seeing the symbol resting on Crowley’s finger overtook him with an anger he didn’t know he possessed. Dean pulled his fist back and sent it flying forward into Crowley’s jaw. A jolt ran through his fingers and up his arm as he connected with the club owner’s jaw. It hurt, but fuck it was satisfying. 

Crowley stumbled backwards, his glass falling out of his hand and crashing to the floor. “Fuck!” He cursed, holding his jaw. He shook his head, looking at Dean with complete disbelief in his wide eyes. “You should not have done that.”

“I’m surprised it hasn’t been done a long time ago, actually,” Dean said bitterly, pulling his fist back again to wind up for another punch. Why not go two for two? Just by looking at him, Dean knew that motherfucker deserved more hits than even he could give him. 

Sam caught his fist before it could collide with the business man again. “Dean, _ stop_,” he hissed quietly, his fingers tightening around his brother’s fist. Blood trickled from Crowley’s lip and into his beard.

“It’s him, Sammy! Look at his ring,” Dean said breathing heavily, fighting against his brother’s hold, but from years of wrestling, his little brother knew all of his moves at that point. 

Sam looked to Castiel with a pleading expression. The detective’s eyes flashed to Dean’s, and his palms were already sweating by the time he tapped against Sam’s arm. “I’m good, let me go.” His brother released him, and he nodded to Cas.

The seasoned detective let out a breath, turned to the bleeding club owner with a groan, and read him his rights. “You are under arrest for the murder and kidnaping of Trixie Knight. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.” As he read, Crowley easily allowed himself to be handcuffed, his wrists out and available as Castiel clasped them into place with a click. Crowley’s eyes never left Dean’s. There was something sinister to the look. “Do you understand the rights I have read to you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Castiel’s eyes flickered to Sam’s, and he shook his head. “I’ll see you at the station. This is going to be a paperwork nightmare.”

“I’ll drop Dean off and meet you.”

“Right.”

The brothers watched Castiel lead Crowley away, through the club. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, the music blasting out in waves around them. “Why so glum?” Dean asked, slapping his brothers shoulder. “We caught a killer!” He was grinning widely. A new sense of complete relief washed over him. The skin on his knuckles was broken and throbbing, but they caught the bad guy. Krystal could go to nursing school! He was ready to celebrate. 

Sam looked at him, his jaw tight. He was pissed, which caught Dean off guard, if he was being honest. “Are you seriously that thick, Dean? You fucked us over confronting him. We have no direct evidence, at least not for the murder, and now we only have twenty-four hours to get something, or at best apply for a longer hold. We can’t charge him yet. We don’t have enough.”

Dean frowned and rubbed his face. “Sammy I’m sorry... I just.... I was seeing red,” he stumbled over his words. _ Shit, shit, fuck! _

“I know,” Sam said quietly. With a groan he shook his head. “Damn it, dude. You can’t do that. Not with my job. This shit is serious. You can’t go around hitting people. You can’t take the law into your own hands.”

“I know.” His voice caught in his throat. 

“Do you?”

“Yes, Sam. I do. Okay?” 

Sam raised his eyebrows and let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay. Now can you take an Uber home so I can go to the station and help Novak? We are going to need some espresso and a fucking miracle to get through the next twenty-four hours.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

_Eight hours in_

“We have fucking nothing, Winchester!” Castiel slammed his folder down on the desk. “And he isn’t talking.”

“Let me try again.”

“He’s lawyered up. There’s no point. That redhead in there is a snake, and there’s no point in trying to talk to him.” They watched Crowley and his lawyer chat politely through the two-way mirror. Abaddon was a notorious shark, even for a lawyer’s standard. She only took high profile clients and serious criminals, and if she was on Crowley’s case they had an even worse chance of locking him down.

“I submitted the paperwork for an extended hold,” Sam said weakly, his guilt getting the best of him.

“She won’t let that go through.” Castiel shook his head with a sigh. “I need another coffee.”

“Grab me one,” Sam said solemnly. He rested his forearm on the glass and his forehead on the fleshy part of his arm. His breath fogged up the glass, and he drew a frowning face with his index finger.

He heard Castiel walk away, and the door click behind him. Things were not looking up. None of the girls at the club would talk, they were scared. Even if they did talk, Crowley had all the money in the world, and the detectives had shit as far as evidence was concerned. They were at a standstill.

Sam grabbed the case file off Novak’s desk and pushed into the interrogation room. “Moose,” Crowley said with a bored smile. He’d taken to calling Sam by the name because of his height and dopey eyes.

“Fergus.”

“Ouch. I thought we were friends.”

Abaddon smiled wickedly next to him. “Are you here to release my client? We all know that what you have is flimsy at best, Detective. We are willing not to press charges against your brother for assault if you just let this all go.” She tapped her perfectly manicured, red nails on the interrogation table.

“Your client is suspected of murder,” Sam said flatly, gripping the case folder in his fingers. “That isn’t going to happen.”

“Suspected.” She pursed her lips. “Well, your brother _ did _ hit my client. We have several hundred witnesses that will testify to that.”

“Or at the very least you can remove the handcuffs.” Crowley smirked, lifting his cuffed hands, the chain jingling. “I only let my lovers restrain me like this. No offense, Moose, but you don’t make the cut.”

“I think I’ll live,” Sam said sharply. “What about Trixie? Was she one of your lovers?”

“You don’t have to answer that,” Abaddon said cooly, her eyes narrowed on Sam.

“No, she wasn’t. She was just a girl. Lot’s of girls come through my club, surely I can’t be responsible for every little thing that comes by for a cocktail.”

“You can if they’re kidnapped, wearing your brand.” Sam gestured to his ring. “What does the symbol mean, Crowley?”

“This?” Crowley asked, holding up his hand with a smile, wiggling his fingers. “This is minimalism, Moose. _ Fashion_, although it looks like you don’t know anything about that, based on your chosen attire. Don’t think too hard about it. Sometimes a ring is just a ring.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Sam said, flipping open the case file to show him the image of Trixie’s brand. “Tell me, then, if it’s just a ring, why does Trixie have it branded to her skin?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Detective,” he said smoothly, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. He didn’t even glance down at the picture, and damn it if it didn’t grind Sam’s gears. 

“We are being more than cooperative. My client has answered all of your questions, Detective. So unless you have some evidence, I am going to move to get this arrest lifted,” Abaddon threatened, pursing her painted lips.

“That’s all for now,” Sam said, closing the folder. He picked it up and rested it in his arms before exiting the room.

_ Sixteen hours in _

Dean came up to the precinct with breakfast and more coffee. Sam’s hands were trembling from being over-caffeinated, and his hazel eyes were tinted red from being awake for over thirty-five hours at that point. Castiel had large purple half moons under his eyes. They looked like hell, and that was being generous.

“I’ve come with rations,” Dean said with a large smile and his hands full of provisions. He figured sporting a sparkling smile and the good coffee from the shop that’s four blocks out of his way, would be enough to gain him some forgiveness. 

“What are you doing here, Winchester?” Castiel snapped, his lip curling up in annoyance.

“Careful, Detective, or your face will stick like that,” he joked, holding out the extra large Americano to Cas. 

The detective’s blue eyes narrowed like he might yell, or throw a punch, but he took the coffee nonetheless.

“Jesus, Sammy. You look like shit,” Dean commented as he handed his brother a coffee.

“Don’t really want to hear it from you,” Sam grumbled, taking a sip.

“Any news?” Dean asked casually, sitting on the edge of the desk. Maybe he was back on their good graces, or maybe they were just too goddamn tired to try to fight with him, Dean couldn’t tell at that point. 

Sam shook his head, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “No dice.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. He knew it was his fault, and if the club owner walked... he didn’t know how he would live with himself. “You two are good, though, right? You’ll find something.”

“Cases take months. Getting a conviction in court isn’t easy when the world is required to assume innocence first and guilt only without reasonable doubt, Dean,” Castiel said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, and Dean looked at Castiel. He _ really _ looked at him, saw the slump in his shoulders under his wrinkled button up. His suspenders were twisted slightly, and he had yesterday’s beard growing in unevenly along his jaw. He still looked unbelievably handsome, but in a disheveled kind of way. In a way that looked like he could’ve been up all night being ravaged. 

“You’re good, though. They gave you this case for a reason. You can…” 

“We can’t do _ anything _ without evidence, Dean. Which is why we don’t arrest on a whim. It’s why we don’t punch possible murderers and confront them in their place of business.”

“I get it,” Dean snapped, frustrated. Shouldn’t the detective be pissed at the motherfucker who was killing girls? Dean had made a mistake, but he was trying to be a good guy. He was trying to make the right choice. Shouldn’t that count for something? “I fucked up.” The weight of the detective’s words sat on his mind and in his heart, and he instinctively rubbed at his sternum with the heel of his hand.

“And your fuck up falls on us,” Castiel said, walking toward Dean. Deep blush was creeping up his neck, past his collar, in anger. “It falls on me. Sam is _ my _ responsibility. He’s a rookie and shouldn’t be making major calls on cases. This is Homicide. Your brother isn’t doing speeding tickets and petty theft anymore. This is serious.”

“Where do you get off, man?” He stood up, letting his anger get the best of him as he closed the space between himself and the detective. “Sam made the right call bringing me. I got the information from that girl. You wouldn’t have _ anything _without me. You think you’re hot shit because you’re a detective, well guess what? So is Sammy. You’re not better than him, and you’re sure as shit not better than me.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Castiel said, low and gruff. His eyes were challenging, squinting at Dean. He could feel the heat of the detective’s breath on his lips, ragged, and heavy mingling with his own. All he had to do was turn his head to close the space between them and shut the detective up for good. 

“Can we stop the pissing contest, please?” Sam groaned, standing up. “We have less than eight hours to book this guy or let him go.” He pushed his hair behind his ears. “It doesn’t matter how we got here, or who’s to blame. We just need to deal with it.”

Sam was right. Mistakes were made, and that was fucking obvious, but arguing wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t take back what had already happened. It wouldn’t help them get enough evidence to take down Crowley and Crossroads, and even though it took everything in Dean to back away from the detective, he did. This wasn’t the time or the place. “Fine.” 

“Fine,” Castiel agreed, wiping his palms on his slacks. “Do you know anything else that can help?” 

“Maybe,” Dean said, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “Let me try to get ahold of Krystal. Maybe she has more to say.”

“Do it,” the detective said before turning back to Sam. “Let’s start from square one. Get a new perspective.”

“You go it.”

_ Twenty-Three hours in _

“Damn it!” Sam hung up his phone, letting it fall on his desk. “We still don’t have the warrant to search his apartment and office for the branding materials and murder weapon.”

“Krystal said they brand themselves,” Dean said, with his face in his hands. “Christ, why would they do that?” 

“I don’t fucking know,” Castiel sighed. “But it means Crowley’s hands are clean... If we have any Hail Mary’s, now is the time,” he said to them with his jaw tight.

“We are fucked,” Sam said, defeat thick in his voice as he lowered himself to a seated position on the floor next to his brother. Their backs were pressed against the wall. 

Abaddon smiled at them through the two-way mirror, as if she could see through the glass. She gave Castiel a wink as he went by to check on Crowley, leaning over and whispering in his ear. He was sitting in the same position they had left him in. He wasn’t sweating nervously or asking for water. He was smooth, calm even. Fergus Crowley knew that they had nothing on him.

Castiel pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Detective Novak.” He pressed his lips together as he nodded. “Yes. Are you certain?” He sighed and shook his head. “Yes. I hear you. Okay, I will. Bye.” He hung up the phone and turned around, gripping a chair in his hands. He lifted it and slammed it against the wall in a rage, before his hands fell flat on the table top.

“Christ, Novak! What’s going on?” Sam asked standing up. 

Dean watched Castiel heaving, his back moving with every ragged breath. He was exhausted, his hair was sticking up from running his fingers through it and yanking at it from the roots. They had no answers, if anything they were so much further from the truth than they were the day before.

“He has an alibi, Rookie. Iron tight,” Castiel said through clenched teeth before he turned his face to his partner. “One of the girls is vouching for him.”

“Maybe it was a hit?”

“Either way we have nothing. Fuck!”

Dean sat feeling completely fucking useless while the two detectives paced the office minute after minute.

They made calls and drew on the whiteboard in the briefing room. Sam called again for the warrant. No matter what the three men suggested, with an alibi, Castiel and Sam couldn’t justify moving it forward or filing for an extended hold.

At hour twenty-four, Crowley walked free. 


	2. Deuteronomy

** **

**Part Two - Deuteronomy**

_ “See, I have taught you decrees and laws as the LORD my God commanded me, so that you may follow them in the land you are entering to take possession of it.” Deuteronomy 4:5 _

* * *

* * *

_ Two Months Later _

Castiel ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, while Sam stepped over it. Due to his sheer stature, ducking under the tape often looked like he was limboing on stilts. Since Crowley had walked out of the precinct eight weeks before, the partners’ relationship was strained at best. They’d been virtually silent when not directly working on cases, and the kid was all too compliant when Castiel suggested that he should take back seat on the cases following Crowley’s. More than ever, he did not trust the rookie’s judgement. 

“What do we have, Eileen?” Castiel asked eyeing the crime scene tech.

“It’s a weird one,” she said out loud, her hands busy with her swabs and plastic evidence bags from her forensics kit.

Sam tapped her shoulder so she would look at him. _ How, _he signed.

Eileen raised an eyebrow with a faint smile, turning away from him. “See for yourself.” The two detectives followed her lead to the middle of the crime scene. The closer they got the more that Castiel could smell it. The smell of burning. He reached up and covered his nose with the sleeve of his button up shirt. “Be careful where you step,” she said, gesturing to the ground. There were large, long patches of grass that were burned away now just black piles of ash.

“What is this?” Castiel asked to no one in particular, as he squatted down next to the ground. He didn’t smell gasoline, or any kind of excelerant, but yet the burns were defined. They looked intentional, almost like an art installation. 

“Male, mid fifties.”

“Holy shit,” Sam said, his voice was hollow, but Castiel barely noticed as he squinted to further examine the grass. “Novak.” 

“What, Rookie?” Castiel asked, annoyed as his concentration broke. He turned his head and found the kid standing at the head of a body next to Eileen, who was gesturing to the victim. The burn marks went all the way up to the corpse, underneath him, and out the other side as far as he could tell from his vantage point. 

The kid’s eyes were locked on the victim. He looked like he’d seen a damn ghost. “Do you need me to hold your hand?” Cas asked as he stood up, shaking his head. At some point it had to be sink or swim and with how short his patience was lately, Castiel figured that time was quickly approaching for his young partner.

“No, it’s just… the vic. You recognize him?” 

He rolled his eyes. What? Was it some celebrity? Surely the Captain would’ve told them if it was someone worth getting excited over. Castiel walked toward the kid to get a better look at the victim. When he got closer, he was able to make out more details. The expensive, pressed suit, red pocket square that perfectly matched his necktie, dark full beard against olive skin, but Castiel didn’t get a sinking feeling until his eyes rested on the victims hand that rested on his chest. The sun glinted off a gold ring on his finger. “Fuck.” 

“What?” Eileen asked, looking between the two._ What_? She signed to Sam.

“It’s Crowley,” he said out loud, fingerspelling the name to Eileen. “He’s one of our perps, but he walked. From the prostitute case.”

Eileen raised her eyebrows, grinning as the kid successfully signed _ prostitute_. 

“What do you make of the burn marks?” He asked, gesturing to the ash. He didn’t get an answer, before the rookie grabbed ahold of Cas’ arm and lead him backwards. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Just trust me, okay?” The kid grumbled, climbing up on the hood of Castiel’s squad car. 

“Kid, get _ down_!”

“Castiel!” Sam snapped, pointing at the spot next to him where he stood. 

He groaned, shaking his head. _ Fucking kids_, but he took Sam’s hand nonetheless and let himself be pulled onto the hood of the car. “Now _ what_? Singer isn’t going to appreciate us climbing all over police sanctioned vehicles for kicks…” And then he saw it, and his jaw fell open. The burn marks came out from Crowley’s back, they were sixteen feet in length at _ least_. “Are those… Christ, are those _ wings_?”

He turned to Sam, who nodded in return. “I thought the markings along the edge facing his feet looked like feathers.” 

“It’s ritualistic. I wonder if he was into more dark things than we thought,” Castiel agreed, staring completely dumbfounded at the scene in front of him. He’d never seen anything like it, not even in books. How did the perp get away with it? It had to take time, precision. As sick as it made him feel, he was a little impressed. 

“Has to be. This isn’t a crime of passion,” Sam said, getting down from the hood of the car. Cas followed suit, and they walked back to examine the body closer. “This was planned.”

“Meticulously,” Castiel said, squinting. He crouched back down by the body to get a better look. It looked like there had been minimal struggle. He turned to Eileen. “What was the time of death?” 

“Based on the scene,” she began, “it’s hard to tell. He was moved here, and killed somewhere else.” 

He nodded, his eyes scanning Crowley’s coat, stopping at the disturbed pocket square. “There’s something in his pocket.” He pulled a rubber glove out of his pocket and slid it onto his hand, to keep the evidence intact. The sky was growing darker by the moment, a storm rolling in. A chill ran up the back of Castiel’s neck as he pulled out a folded piece of paper that was carefully tucked behind the pocket square.

“What is it?” The rookie asked. 

Castiel squinted as he carefully unfolded the page. The paper was thin and the print small, but a passage was circled in red ink. “The Lord is my light and my salvation- whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid? Psalm 27:1,” Castiel read out loud.

“It’s a Bible verse?”

Castiel nodded, standing to show Sam. “But that isn’t the alarming part,” he said slowly before pointing to the scrawl in red pen that read: _ ME_. 

_ Later that night _

“It was seriously fucked up, Dean. No wonder Novak never sleeps! It wasn’t just the stab wound, though. I’ve seen a murder victim before. It was the rest of it.” 

Dean laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He tossed an old hacky sack up in the air and caught it. He was bored out of his fucking mind. He needed to get a writing job sooner rather than later, before he turned into one of those guys who spent Friday night on the couch in pants with an elastic waistband, a bowl of popcorn, and a blow up doll that was still too _ tired _to fuck him. 

He sat up and tossed the ball into the trash. _ Complacency be gone! _“Rest of it?” Dean asked, distracted. Sam poked his head into Dean’s bedroom, his hair up in one of those god awful man buns that made Dean a little sick to his stomach. “Fucking really, Pebbles?”

Sam exhaled out of his nose in a huff. “Shut up.” 

“Need me to sleep with you tonight so you won’t get nightmares about the big bad murderer who is killing bad guys, or is Bambam going to protect you?” 

“You’re such an ass,” he complained, walking back out of the bedroom. 

Dean snorted and hopped out of bed, following his younger brother. “Sam, Sam, _ hey_. I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in surrender. 

“You done?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m done.” 

His brother searched his eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to detect a lie. Once he was clearly satisfied, he continued. “He was moved to the scene, so it was intended for him to be found, and he had these burn marks.” 

“On his body? Like the brand? That’d be some divine intervention.” 

“No, not like that. It was on the ground next to his body. It almost… hell, they looked like giant wings that were burnt out in the grass.” 

Dean scratched his jaw and looked at his brother. He could’ve been ten years old again. They’ve drank together, and Dean took him to the strip club for his eighteenth birthday, but Sammy was still his baby brother. At the end of the day he’d do anything for him, no matter how much he teased. “You were so fucked up a month ago about him gettin’ away.” 

“I was,” he agreed with a sigh. “I just… It shouldn’t have been _ this _ way.” 

“The guy is dead, Sammy. He can’t hurt anyone else. Doesn’t matter which way it happened. You’re really tellin’ me this isn’t a win?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Sam said cautiously with a heavy sigh, leaning his body against the wall next to the bathroom door.

“Why?” Dean crossed his arms and looked up at his brother. “Seems like good riddance to me. Ain’t nothin’ worth beatin’ yourself up about.”

“Maybe… I don’t know.” Sam walked back into the bathroom, shutting the door. “We swapped one bad guy for another, you know?” 

“Right, but this guy kills other killers. Crowley kidnapped and murdered teenagers.” 

“The law doesn’t really work that way,” Sam laughed dryly, opening back up the door and stepping out in his pajama pants. “A vigilante is still a criminal.” 

Dean frowned at him and followed him into the kitchen. “So you’re saying _ Batman _is a criminal?”

“Batman is a comic book character, Dean.” He reached up and pulled out a jar of peanut butter from the cabinet. 

“He has movies, too,” he grumbled in response.

“But yes, for all intensive purposes, Batman would be a criminal. Good doesn’t just cancel out the bad, and bad definitely doesn’t cancel out _ more _ bad,” Sam said while he spread peanut butter on a slice of bread.

He watched Sam’s wrist paint the peanut butter on both slices just like Dean taught him when they were kids, and his chest squeezed. “You’re pretty smart, you know that?”

His baby brother offered him a small smile and a nod. “Yeah, I think I know that. Learned it from you.” 

“Hey,” Dean said dismissively. “No chick flick moments, okay?”

“Right.” 

“Give me that.” He took the knife from Sam. “You’re not doing enough peanut butter. This is going to be a dry ass sandwich.” He scooped another dollop of peanut butter onto the bread and pushed it out evenly. “Want crust?”

“Crust is good for you.” 

Dean shoved the knife back into the jar and put his hands on his hips, staring at his brother. “Jesus, Sam. Out of everythin’ you’ve gotten from me, and you still don’t get it? Food is _ good_. It tastes fuckin’ delicious. It ain’t about bein’ healthy. How much beer and pie do you think are on that weird ass pyramid? Not enough is the answer you’re lookin’ for!” He shook his head, plucking the knife out of the jar, licking peanut butter off the blade before pressing it into the bread to cut off the crust. 

“Thanks,” Sam said, smiling a bit as he took half the sandwich from his brother. 

“Welcome.” The brothers pressed the sandwiches together in a cheers motion. “So, uh, how’s Novak handlin’ the case? Got his perfect panties in a bunch?” Dean asked before shoving part of the sandwich in his mouth to keep him from saying too much. 

Sam raised an eyebrow. “He’s surprisingly unaffected.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

“Why do you care?” Sam asked, plopping the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, some peanut butter on the corner of his mouth. Dean instinctively reached forward and wiped it off Sam’s mouth with his sleeve, like he used to when they were kids. His younger brother batted his hand away. 

“I _ don’t _ care.” 

“Okay, sure,” Sam snorted, unconvinced. He reached into the fridge and grabbed a beer, twisting of the cap, and leaned up against the counter, taking a swig. 

“So any news on that cute lab tech?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows, redirecting the conversation far away from the stern detective with his sparkling blue eyes. “Eileen?”

“She isn’t a lab tech,” Sam complained, walking into the living room and settling onto the couch. “What about her?”

“You ask her out yet?” 

“I’m there to _ work_, Dean. You know, solve cases, catch murderers. Not socialize.”

“Well you’re doing a shit job, kid. There’s a murder you need to solve and nothin’ has gotten done about it.”

“What murder?” Sam asked, squinting his eyes skeptically.

“The murder of your goddamn social life.” Dean laughed, tossing the pillow from the armrest at his brothers head, barely missing his beer by an inch. “It’s Friday night for god sakes and you’re eating a peanut butter sandwich in flannel pajama pants.” _ All he needs is the blow up doll! _“It’s fuckin’ pitiful.”

“Shut the fuck up. It’s my night off, and I’m gonna watch Game of Thrones. What are you doing tonight?”

“Not that.” Dean rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Come out with me. You can watch your nerd show later.” 

“This is the highest rated show on television right now, Dean.” 

“Hey, are you sure that Eileen is deaf? She may just be fuckin’ with you so she doesn’t have to listen to a grown ass man talk about _ dragons_.” 

Sam clicked on the television, shooting Dean a sideways glance. “You’re suck a dick.”

“I’m just kiddin’, kid.” He leaned in and ruffled his brothers hair, pulling the elastic tie, releasing his hair from the bun. 

“Seriously?”

“I’ll be back late, don’t wait up.” Dean slid into his leather jacket, laughing like he was so goddamn proud of himself, because he _ was_. “I’m going for a stiff one.” He smirked. “And maybe a drink.”

“Wear a condom!” Sam shouted, tossing a pillow at him from the couch. Dean dodged effortlessly, laughing as he shut the door behind him. He jogged down the stairs and out into the cool evening. He pulled his jacket together to keep the elements from invading. 

It was rainy season in the city. Women struggled with umbrellas to keep their hair and expensive wardrobes in tact, but nothing stopped the puddles from invading their fake Prada shoes. Dean didn’t mind the rain. It cleared him of his sins and sometimes it just felt good to be in the moment without any kind of veil. Sometimes he just wanted to _ be_.

The Winchester brothers lived close to the precinct, so Dean shouldn’t have been surprised when he entered a bar full of police officers. He shook the rain out of his hair and wiped his feet on the mat by the door. He instinctively scanned the bar for a place to sit and someone to buy a drink for when his eyes landed on a pair of slumped shoulders. Messy dark hair against a gray button up with the sleeves pushed up. Dean more often than not dated women. He was more experienced in that department, and that kept him in a place of emotional safety. _ Stay in your lane_, he’d remind himself, but that never stopped him from flirting. It never stopped him from looking either and as he eyed the tired, disheveled man in front of him he wondered if maybe his lane could widen a little, just once.

Dean put on his best stride to approach the bar, already digging his wallet out to offer to buy the guy a drink when the man at the bar turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. His blue eyes caught a neon sign, causing them to glow brilliantly in the low light from the bar. “Well tickle my pickle, is that you, Detective?” Dean asked with a large grin as he approached Castiel at the bar rail. He hadn’t known it was the detective at first, but the happy surprise left his stomach in knots, twisting into itself. Guess he couldn’t shake Cas as easily as he originally anticipated. 

“Did I do something in a past life to warrant this terrible karma?” The detective asked, turning to see Dean and meeting him with a squint.

“Aw, _ terrible_, really? Let me buy you a drink. It’ll bring your karma around.” Dean grinned, sitting down on the barstool next to Castiel, and holding out the cash that he’d already fished from his wallet.

“No, thank you.”

“I’ll take a scotch, neat,” Dean said offering the bartender a smile, before turning toward Castiel. The detective had a world of weight on his shoulders. It looked like he would collapse into himself at a moment's notice. So Dean offered a soft spoken olive branch. “Sammy told me about Crowley.”

“He shouldn’t have,” Novak said, taking a sip from his own glass. “It’s still an open investigation.”

“He can’t hurt anyone else. That’s a win,” Dean said gently. “Right?”

“It’s complicated,” the detective said dismissively, his eyes somewhere else. 

“So I’ve heard.” He took the glass from the bartender and welcomed the warmth down his throat.

“Hey nerds. Sorry, the bathroom line was ungodly. I ended up peeing in the men’s,” a woman’s voice said from behind them. Dean turned to catch a redhead with a large grin, and a beer in her hand. She wore a bright pink tank top that was tied off at her waist. It had a unicorn on it. She was pretty, and _ fuck _ he was jealous. 

“Shit.” Dean’s heart sank into his stomach, sending him swerving back into his own lane like he was avoiding a deer on the highway. “Sorry Cas, I didn’t know you were on a date.”

“With me?” The woman laughed shaking her head. “No offense, Sweetie, but _ hell _ no.”

“Ouch,” Castiel feigned hurt, holding his chest dramatically, and Dean had to look at Castiel and then look again. He was playing up the drama? He was _ playing_? Maybe he was happier with Crowley dead than what Sam had originally suggested. Maybe wound up tightly wasn’t his normal resting state, after all. 

“I’m single as a Pringle. Fly by the wind and all that.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Who are you?”

“Dean Winchester.” He offered his hand out to her like a total dork. He stared at his own extended hand like, _ what? Is this a business meeting? _

“Winchester? Like Sam?”

“His big brother,” Dean said with a proud smile, the knots in his stomach untangling at the brush of their fingers. She shook his hand with an impressive grip, and he could hear Castiel snort next to him. Dean glanced at the detective to catch him muffling a laugh. _ Holy fuck, he’s laughing! _If he was being honest, Dean didn’t think that was possible, but damn he was cute when he smiled. 

“Color me surprised,” she grinned widely, letting go of his hand. “I’m Charlie Bradbury. I work at the precinct with your brother and Cranky here.” Charlie grabbed Castiel’s shoulder, shaking him slightly, invoking _ another _smile. 

Dean mirrored her smile. Seeing the detective loosen up a bit was giving him energy that pulsed through his veins like some kind of drug. “I thought I was the only one who called him that!”

“It’s a universal name.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be my friend?” Castiel grumbled at her, looking back into his glass as if there was something written on the ice cubes. 

“Aw, Cas. Don’t live up to your nickname! It’s Friday night. Just let loose. In fact, let’s dance,” Charlie pleaded, offering him a hand. She wiggled her fingers at him as an invitation. She was unbearably cute, and if Dean was being honest, he could see how she would be irresistible in the same way that a kitten was. Charlie had this bright bubbly personality, matched with her fiery red curls, and glow of general goodness that radiated off of her. She was the kind of person that attracted other people. 

“I don’t dance,” the detective said flatly, his nose damn near buried in his drink.

“You do now,” Charlie insisted, grabbing his hand, and yanking him out to the dance floor. She pulled the stumbling detective behind her. With her small stature, Dean knew that Castiel could’ve prevented her from pulling him out to the dance floor if he really wanted to, but he let himself be pulled anyway. 

Dean finished his glass, ordering another, as he watched Charlie dance around Castiel. She bumped into him, took his hand so he could spin her. He started off stiff, looking awkward as Charlie moved his hands for him. The more embarrassingly she danced, singing in his ear along with the music, the more Castiel laughed and loosened up.

_ He’s got a kryptonite after all_.

He watched Charlie imitate a shopping trip, miming grabbing items off the shelf and putting them in her shopping cart, while rolling her hips dramatically. She was teaching a line dance to Castiel when her eyes caught Dean’s. He laughed, shooting her a thumbs up, and took a swig from his glass. Charlie narrowed her eyes on Dean and danced over to him, leaving Castiel alone, looking unbelievably relieved. “Okay, Dean, lets go. Nobody likes a lurker.” She wiggled her fingers at him, encouraging him to join the dumpster fire that was the two of them dancing. 

“You want me to dance?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“No, I’m asking you to blow up the Death Star. _Yes_ I’m asking you to dance!”

_ Fuck, she’s cool. _ He shrugged. Watching the detective dance was a sight, but dancing _ with _him was something else altogether. Something that he was dying to try out for himself. “Sure thing, Leia.” He finished his drink, took her hand, and let her pull him to where Castiel was standing alone.

“Detective.” He winked at Castiel and shimmied toward him, moving his shoulders, and reaching his arms like he was going to pull the detective to him. Cas turned his nose away from Dean like he didn’t notice the impossibly loud dance moves.

Dean frowned and turned to Charlie, taking her hand and spinning her in circles. “Dean I’m dizzy!” She laughed, letting go of his hand. 

He glanced again at Cas. How could a man be so damn beautiful, but also be _ so awkward_? The detective looked awkward in his own skin, tugging on a stray thread on his suspenders, his eyes trying to look anywhere but in Dean’s direction, or at least that’s what it seemed like to Dean. When Cas finally looked at him, Dean attempted to lasso him with an invisible rope, grinning widely. He was met with a hard, unimpressed stare, and Dean let his arms fall to his sides before closing the space between himself and Castiel. “Come on, don’t be a square,” he teased, shouting over the music. “You know you like it! You don’t have to fight it, Detective, you’re not on the clock!”

“I most certainly do not _ love it_,” Novak said sharply. He was stiff as a board, standing so tightly in place that Dean worried he might pull something, or that his pretty face might get permanently stuck in a stoney scowl. All he wanted to do was reach out, touch the skin on Cas’ cheek, and blend into him. He wanted to understand him, but more than anything he wanted to kiss that annoyed scowl right off his face. 

“Cranky,” Charlie and Dean said at the same time with a laugh, turning to high five each other. 

“I am not cranky!” Castiel shouted with a huff. If he were in a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears. 

“You are, man,” Dean said gently. “It’s fine. It’s just your personality. Nothin’ wrong with that.” 

_No person can be perfect. Gotta have one flaw, at least. _

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean before turning dramatically, walking back to the bar. He took a step after the detective, his hand out like he was reaching for him, but he stopped with a sigh.“Did I say the wrong thing?” He asked, turning to Charlie. “I don’t get him, but he’s Sammy’s partner so I want him to like me. Ya know?” 

He watched the detective push through the crowd of people, his suspenders illuminated by the strobe light. He could tell, even from this far away, that Castiel held a lot of stress in his shoulders. He walked tightly, like he was fighting a leg cramp. 

“Cas barely likes himself, Dean. I wouldn’t take it personally,” she said dismissively.

“He seems to like you.”

“Well, _ yeah_. He’s human, of course he likes me,” Charlie laughed brightly, reaching out to touch his arm.

Dean snorted. She was confident, and he had a real thing for confident women. Confident, pretty, _ nerdy _ redheads. Charlie Bradbury was a dangerous combination of everything Dean looked for in a woman. “Touché.”

“We have history, you know? We’ve known each other since high school. I’d do anything for him. He’s my person.” She squeezed his bicep gently, and Dean nodded in response. He _ did _ know. Sam was his. “Here’s the thing about Cas, he doesn’t open up easily. He’s really guarded, protected, but if you stick around and fight for it, when he does open up… it’s just, _ wow. _He’s got the prettiest heart, Dean. It’s like stained glass.”

He could picture it, then, Castiel’s chest opening up like cathedral doors, exposing a large stained glass portrait of his heart. It would glint and glow from the sun pouring through it, creating colorful warmth that’d bathe Dean when he stood under it. He’d feel warm, he’d feel _ whole_. 

“I am not cranky,” Castiel said, breaking the image in his mind, shattering the glass behind his eyes. He’d returned with a tray of shots in his hands, and Dean raised an eyebrow, his mind redirecting from the daydream to the real thing. “I’m not cranky, and I’m certainly not boring. You’ll see,” Castiel grumbled, meeting Dean’s eyes, before taking two of the six shots.

”Oh _ fuck yes!_” Dean grinned and grabbed one from him, unable to resist the urge of seeing Castiel through an alcoholic lense. He clinked glasses with Charlie and they swallowed the shots together. “Guess we are in for an interesting night after all.”

After four rounds of shots Castiel proved that he indeed was not boring. Not that Dean needed any convincing. With every ounce of liquor it was harder and harder for him to pretend that everything that came out of Dean’s mouth wasn’t entertaining, despite being incredibly childish, and Dean was eating up every second of it. He was high on the sound of Cas’ laugh.

“Okay, okay, _ so_.”

“Get on with it, Winchester.” Charlie giggled, sipping out of her Pina Colada. She’d finally given in two drinks ago stating, _ I don’t give a shit. I am a feminist, and I can drink a fucking flirty drink with an umbrella if I goddamn want to_! “We don’t have all night.”

“Right,” Dean said, letting out a puff of air. His cheeks were warm and his head was swimming from alcohol. It was hard to focus, not taking into account the loud music pounding in the background, and Castiel’s thigh brushing his on the couch in the lounge area of the bar. It took everything in Dean not to just stare at it, the heat beneath the detective’s slacks burning a hole through his jeans. He cleared his throat, urging his leg to move away, but he pressed a little closer instead. “So, Sammy comes home the other night and starts digging around in the book shelves, and I’m like, bro what’re you lookin’ for? And he’s like, mind your fuckin’ business. That’s rude, right? Fuck, I’m his _ brother_. Excuse me if I care. Anyway, he is looking for his old sign language books because he has a thing for your crime tech.”

“Eileen?” Charlie gasped, chewing on her cherry. “Oh my god, yes! I ship them!”

“You do what?” Cas narrowed his eyes at Charlie. One of his suspenders was slipping off his shoulder, like a girls dress strap. It felt like he was about to spill out, like Dean might get a chance to see the man behind the facade, but only if he was really looking closely. 

“Ship, like relation_ship_? Christ, Cas. You’re like an old man.” She rolled her eyes. “Hey, watch.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting expectantly for Charlie to do something. She just sat there, looking serious. Her eyebrows were knit together, and her lips twitched. Suddenly it occurred to him that maybe she was just as drunk as he was. Maybe she thought she could levitate or something. “Got it,” she murmured, sticking out her tongue.

“Holy shit.”

She had tied her cherry stem in a perfect knot. She stood up and bowed, handing Dean the knot. It was a short stem, and Dean was impressed, to say the least. 

“Damn, woman. You’ve got some serious skills.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Bet you can put those to use.” He leaned forward a little instinctively, feeling an emptiness as Castiel’s thigh left his, but he’d denied every advance that Dean made. Maybe he was straight. Maybe Dean was just _ that bad _ at picking people. 

“And I do,” she said smoothly. “But, Deano, I hate to break it to you, you’ll never find out first hand.” Charlie reached back for her drink, sticking her straw between her lips like a tease, making Dean suck his breath in. 

“Aw.” He poked out his bottom lip in a pout. “Way to set fire to that fantasy. Is it my hair?” He touched the top of his head.

“No, sweetie. It’s your penis.” She eyed his pants, biting the straw as a sad attempt to hide her smile.

“You don’t know that my penis is no good! It’s good, I promise! I have references.” Dean may have been imagining it from all the alcohol, but he could’ve sworn that he heard Castiel suck in his breath. 

“Oh my sweet summer child.” Charlie touched his hand. She was kind, letting him down easy. It was unlikely that the night would end with a drink in his face, and most of the time that was all that Dean could ask for when it came to sexual advances. “I like women.”

Deans eyebrows shot up. _ That was unexpected. Yup, my gaydar is shit. _“My fantasy is officially reignited.” He laughed, squeezing her hand in his.

Charlie rolled her eyes, pulling her hand away from his. “Good lord. you’re such a _ guy_.”

Dean turned his head to the detective, who was surprisingly quiet during the exchange. “Cas, can you tie a knot in a cherry stem with your tongue?” He asked, eyeing Castiel, leaning in to him. The temporary distraction that he’d gotten from Charlie had dissolved as quickly as it had begun, and he was hyper focused back on Cas. 

“I don’t know.”

Dean grabbed a spare cherry stem from Charlie’s previous drink and plopped it into his mouth. He locked eyes with Castiel and worked his tongue along the cherry stem, twisting it in his mouth. Dean couldn’t tell if it was the buzz, the low lightning, or if he was really seeing it right, but he could’ve sworn he saw Cas swallow.

Once the knot was secure Dean stuck out his tongue, offering up the perfect knot. “I still got it.” He grinned and winked, his eyes still settled on Cas’ blue ones. “For you, Detective.” He handed Castiel the slobbery cherry stem, and to his surprise Castiel took it, curling his fist around it. His eyes never leaving Dean’s.

_ Three days later _

“So,” Charlie said, leaning over Castiel’s desk.

“So, _ what_?” He glared at Charlie over the steam from his cup of coffee. He was so fucking tired. After the night at the club he had spent the rest of the weekend alone mulling over the case and eating cold Ramen. He didn't make much progress, which added to his deep seeded annoyance. 

“_Dean_.” She poked his cheek. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean. Holy shit, he was so cute.”

“Please. He is a reckless child.” Plus, Castiel assumed by his flirtations with Charlie that he was straight, despite his earlier impression from Crossroads. He didn’t need to go down that road, no matter how boyishly handsome Dean was, and no matter how much disappointment settled into his chest when he thought about Dean’s freckled cheeks and striking green eyes. Feelings were a menace, and Castiel preferred not to have them when he could help it. 

“Exactly, opposites attract.”

He rolled his eyes at that, taking a sip from his coffee. “I’m too busy for relationships.” Charlie should’ve known his situation better than anyone. He was too busy to find the keys to unlock the dozens of dead bolts locking his heart away within himself. 

“I didn’t say marry him. Just like...” Her eyes glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. “Just fuck him. You could use a release, Cranky.”

Heat rose up Castiel’s neck and into his face. “You can’t say things like that,” he hissed. His private life was private for a reason, and he’d be damned if he crossed a professional line at work. 

“What? You are pent up.”

“Not _ that_. You can’t be so explicit,” he whispered. 

Charlie rolled her eyes and adjusted the butterfly clip in her hair. “Okay, right, sorry.” She huffed and leaned in closer, her eyes challenging him. “Just admit that you want to, and I’ll leave it alone.”

He narrowed his blue eyes at Charlie, begging her to shut the fuck up for once in her life. “What I want is irrelevant,” he decided. At the end of the day, she was still Charlie, and he couldn’t fake it with her. 

“Well, that’s just not true.” She laughed. “Come on, just go for it. What is there to lose?”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was too damn tired. Where should he even start? “Well, he’s my partner’s brother, first of all.” He took another drink of his coffee. 

“You talking about Dean?” Sam asked, walking up with a fresh coffee mug in his hand.

“What?” Castiel choked on his own coffee. It burned shooting down his windpipe and for a second he felt like he was drowning. Drowning and _ caught_. 

“I just heard you say ‘your partner’s brother’. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Sam said sheepishly. “Sorry, Dean’s such a pain. He really does feel bad about messing things up with Crowley...”

Castiel waved him off when he realized that Sam only caught the tail end of the conversation. “It’s in the past. Best we move on?”

Charlie snorted, and Sam raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, okay. He will be happy to hear that you aren’t mad.”

“Why would he care if I was mad?” Castiel eyed him, his curiosity peaked. He placed his mug down on the desk, focusing on keeping his expression emotionless. 

“Don’t know, but he asks about you every day. Probably just making sure he didn’t ruin things for me here.” Sam shrugged, putting his coffee back to his lips. “So, any new leads on the Crowley murder?”

“Nothing,” Castiel sighed, rubbing his face, Dean’s apple green eyes pushed to the back of his mind at the mention of the case.

Charlie reached forward and grabbed Cas’ coffee, taking a few eager gulps. 

“Well, Dean keeps saying good riddance. So maybe we should just take it as a win.”

“Do you really believe that?” He asked, examining his partners muscles tensing in his forearms. 

“Trying to,” Sam admitted, flexing his fingers, releasing the tension. “I figure it’s better than losing sleep over a scumbag.”

“Good point.” He stood up, stretching, letting his neck pop. He’d been sitting in that same damn chair for much too long. “Get back to work, Rookie. I may not have a lead, but maybe you can find something I’ve missed.” He turned his back to Sam to grab some additional papers from the filing cabinet next to his desk. 

“Novak,” Sam cleared his throat, causing Castiel to glance over his shoulder. “I was wondering if you’d want to grab dinner with me sometime? My treat,” he offered with a wide smile.

“Why?” Castiel eyed him suspiciously, his eyebrows coming together.

“To say thank you,” Sam said quickly, running his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “For your patience with me. For mentoring me.”

“Wasn’t exactly my choice.” He raised an eyebrow, covering a smirk growing on his mouth with his fingers.

Charlie elbowed him in the ribs. “He would love to go. It’ll be a million times better than eating leftover pizza or Ramen noodles again. _ Right_, Cas?”

“Right,” he mumbled. He didn’t want to be boring and antisocial, after all.

“Awesome! Just let me know when you’re free,” Sam said quickly, looking relieved.

“I will.” Cas looked at his watch and stood up. “I’ll check my calendar and get back to you.” He shrugged into his jacket and adjusted his tie.

“Where are you going?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Court,” Castiel grunted. “I am testifying for an old case that’s finally going to trial.”

“Ain’t no rest for the wicked,” Charlie said with a nod, before resting a hand on his shoulder. “Put ‘em away, big guy.”

Cas nodded knowingly. “I’ll try my best, ma’am.”

_ Later that day _

“And how does the jury find the defendant?”

“Not guilty on all charges.”

The sound of the judges gavel knocking against the bench echoed through Castiel’s mind. It was haunting, like a knock on the door late at night when he wasn’t expecting a guest, or the sound of a shutter clicking against the windowpane from the wind. 

Lucas Azazel’s jaundiced eyes locked with Castiel’s. He gave a sinister smile and a wink. He got off on a fluke. He was a rapist, and he’d been raping his young daughter since she was a toddler, sneaking into her room and doing unexplainable things. He did things that made Castiel lose the little sleep he got. The man was ill and dying of liver failure, which was the main reason the daughter finally came forward. She didn’t think he could hurt her anymore if the trial went exactly the way it went that day. 

Even though he was a criminal, and the case was open and shut, the jury found him innocent- on a technicality. By law he was liable for what he did, because he was her father. He was in a position of trust, so even though he claimed she consented, it wouldn’t matter. He was the parent, and she was the child. Legally she _ couldn’t _ consent. The jury, on the other hand, didn’t think he was in a position of trust. They claimed she didn’t trust him because she was afraid of him. The _ fuck _ she didn’t.

Castiel pushed out of the courthouse into the rainy afternoon, past the on-lookers, past Azazel’s daughter’s muffled sobs, and past the thick, suffocating air. He gasped for breath, needing the freshness, begging for oxygen. He stumbled down the stairs and slammed his fists onto the cold, stone pillar that held up the lip of the courthouse roof. He pressed his forehead against the damp, cool stone, hoping for clarity that never came. How could he do everything right and still not be able to put the perp away? It was a fucking technicality! He was a _ monster _and it didn’t even matter. It didn’t make a lick of difference. What was the fucking point of even trying?

Castiel couldn’t get the image of Azazel’s daughter, Jess, out of his head. Her big blue eyes spilled over with tears, her face red as she collapsed into the arms of her mother, who had stroked her hair, murmuring promises that she could never keep. Their only saving grace was that, hopefully, he was too sick to hurt anyone ever again, but Castiel wasn’t hopeful. He was rarely hopeful and every day on the job that a criminal walked, he was less and less so.

“Detective?”

Castiel let out a breath, the heat from it fogging up around his face. He would recognize that gravelly voice anywhere. “Hello, Dean.” He wanted to stay there, against the pillar, and disappear within it, but then there was _ Dean _. 

“Are you... are you okay?”

He sighed, forcing himself off the pillar, turning toward Dean. He could feel his face wilting, the lack of sleep over the trial evident in every wrinkle and sag in his cheeks and under his eyes. “Just a rough case,” he admitted. “What are you doing here?” He straightened his spine, trying to pull himself back together. 

“Parking tickets.” Dean waved the papers with a sheepish smile. His eyelashes held the mist from the rain, making his eyes glisten in a way that was extremely calming.

“Parking tickets?” Castiel asked, confused. His voice was rough with emotion, as he tried his best to focus on Dean’s eyelashes, the freckles on his cheeks, _ anything _other than Azazel and the trial. “You live in New York, why do you even have a car?”

“They’re from when I first moved.” Dean scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks pink. He looked cute, Castiel noticed. “Before I put my Baby in storage, I had her parked in the street. Didn’t realize it’d be a shit show trying to find parking in the city. Thought that Sammy would waive them for me since he’s a cop, but no dice. He’s a slut for the law, ya know?”

Castiel smiled at that, the claws that were twisted around his lungs loosened their grip, allowing him to breathe a little deeper. “Yeah, the kid sure is.” 

They stood there for a moment, an electric, palpable silence between them. There was something calming about Dean’s presence, he was like a rain track, the sound of his breathing slowed Castiel’s heart rate. His fingers twitched at his side as he tried to avoid reaching his finger’s out to touch Dean’s. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets, picking at the lint inside. 

Dean chewed on his lip like he was considering something, his eyes flickering up to Castiel’s and then back down to his feet. “Hey, Detective? Would you want to get out of here? Maybe grab a bite. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. There’s a good burger place not too far,” he offered, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. 

His eyes met Deans - they were moss green and kind. He rolled a piece of lint between his index finger and thumb, considering the invitation. “Don’t you need to pay your tickets?”

Dean shrugged, shoving them hastily into his pocket. “I think I’d rather be on the run from the law than being a law abiding citizen. It’ll get Sammy in a tizzy, plus it’s a lot sexier. It fits my aesthetic.” He grinned widely.

Castiel laughed in response, running his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t quite ready to let Dean walk away from him just yet. “Burgers, huh?”

“Best in New York.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

_ A half hour later _

Sitting across from Dean Winchester at a crappy diner was the last place Castiel expected to be on that rainy afternoon. “Alright, it’s judgement time.” Dean grinned, holding a greasy french fry between his fingers.

Castiel chewed his bite of burger thoughtfully. It was delicious, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had to give Dean that one. He knew a good burger. “Damn, you’re right.” He allowed the smallest smile to peek out from behind the burger, before taking another bite.

“I knew it!” Dean grinned wildly, shoving his fry into his chocolate milk shake, and plopping it into his mouth eagerly.

“That is disgusting,” Castiel commented. _ And juvenile. _

“What? Do you live under a rock, Detective? This is a damn delicacy.” Dean dipped another fry in the shake. “Open up.”

“No way.”

“Open up, or it’s gettin’ all over your face and as funny as that’d be I’m sure you’d be pissed. That’d be a shame ‘cause I kinda think you’re havin’ fun.”

He rolled his eyes in response and opened his mouth, allowing Dean to place the fry on his tongue. There was something incredibly erotic about being fed by Dean, his eyes partly closed, only showing a tint of green as the sweet and salty snack touched Cas’ tongue. Dean ran his tongue over his own bottom lip, mimicking Castiel as he tasted the snack. Their eyes met, Dean’s finger brushing Castiel’s bottom lip. It was intimate, like they were the only two in the diner, in the world. “Fine, you’re right,” he said, breathlessly. “It’s delicious.”

“Told ya.” Dean smiled.

Who would’ve known that Dean Winchester had an award winning smile? No matter how annoying he was, Castiel couldn’t help but smile when Dean did. It was infectious. He would give anything to watch Dean smile over and over again, and he had not realized until that moment.

“Glad to see you aren’t pissed at me,” Dean said, dipping another fry.

“I was never pissed at you.”

“Sure.”

“I wasn’t,” Cas said flatly. “Being pissed would indicate caring.” He shrugged dismissively, staring back at his plate.

“Right. The cold, hard detective has no feelings. I buy it.”

“It’s _ my _ aesthetic,” he teased, using Dean’s words against him, his eyes flickering up for just a second, catching Dean staring intently. Castiel swallowed hard, feeling his cheeks heat up under Dean’s gaze. 

“Right.” Dean snickered in response. “Guess we are quite the pair.”

“I suppose we are.”

Castiel settled on Dean’s lips, and he had this extreme urge to lean across the table and taste the milkshake on them, but he refrained. Everything he told Charlie before was true. Dean was likely straight, Cas didn’t date, and even if he _ did_, he would not date Dean Winchester.

“Want to talk about what happened back at the courthouse?” Dean asked casually, pulling apart the paper wrapper from his straw.

“Not really.”

“Well, I’m here if you change your mind.”

“Trying to get a story for the paper?”

“Nah, just trying to be a good friend.” Dean eyed Castiel. “Hope you’d think a little more of me, Detective.”

“I do,” he admitted. He knew that Dean wouldn’t exploit him. He was a good man. He could tell by the way he protected Krystal at the club, and the way he was around Sam. He was a smartass, but he was a good man nonetheless. His eyes met Dean’s and suddenly he wanted to tell him everything. “The longer I’m in this job, and the more evil I see... the less I can sleep. Sometimes I feel like I’m just doing damage control. It’s hard to get a conviction, even on a true criminal. How am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that?”

“I bet it’d be hard.” 

Dean was looking at him, his eyes flickered up to Cas’, and he sucked in his breath, his lips parted, his eyebrows furrowing for just a moment.

“It is,” he agreed, pressing his own lips together, trying not to breathe in every one of Dean’s exhales. The table suddenly felt incredibly small, and Cas was conscious of the toe of Dean’s boot brushing against his dress shoe. 

He reached forward and touched the top of Castiel’s hand, and Dean brushed his fingers along his knuckles. They both let out a breath that they’d been holding, as if their hands touching gave them permission. 

“You can’t save them all, Cas.”

“I was just telling Sam that…” Castiel laughed bitterly, before letting out a ragged sigh. “And what about the ones I can’t save?” He asked desperately, his eyes wet along the edges. He twisted his fingers up, touching the length of Dean’s fingers. They were surprisingly soft, apart from a small callous on his middle finger from where his pen rested. “What about them? All of that up to God?”

Dean smiled sadly and shook his head, opening his palm wider, allowing Cas to run their fingers together absentmindedly. “Sammy may believe that, but I don’t. I don’t think God cares about us anymore. It’s just up to us.”

“Us?”

“Humankind,” Dean clarified smiling sheepishly. “But maybe you and I, too.” He squeezed Castiel’s hand, causing his heart to flutter under Dean’s touch.

“Our mom… I dunno if Sammy told you, but she died when he was a baby.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling sick. There was so much death. He could feel Dean’s fingers chill under his, and Castiel brought his other hand on top of Dean’s to shield him from whatever pain that he could. 

“She was murdered. It was arson, but the police didn’t ever bring anyone in. There wasn’t enough evidence...resources. It’s not right. Sometimes it feels like there’s no fuckin’ justice.” 

Castiel would’ve thought that Dean would be worked up, exasperated, but in reality he looked more sad. He looked defeated. “Sometimes it does.”

“Don’t you wish you could do more, Detective?”

“Every day.” He released Dean’s hand, letting his palms fall to his lap. He looked down at his burger and suddenly he wasn’t hungry. His stomach churned again. 

“The system is broken, Cas. I just hope I can do my part.” 

Castiel thought about that, while breaking up a fry on his plate. Dean was a reporter, and they always felt like enemy number one to a police officer. Everything that was written in the Times felt twisted. It felt a little too much like propaganda, but if it were _ Dean... _Dean, knowing what he knew about Castiel and Sam, saying all the right things about justice. Maybe he could make a difference. Maybe he could instill change. 

“You seem thoughtful, Detective. What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”

Castiel looked up at him, alarmed. His brain ran a circle, trying to find something to say. Anything to say. “Sam... Sam asked me to dinner.”

“Like a date?” He chuckled. “No offense, but I don’t think you’re his type.”

“No, not as a date.” Castiel laughed awkwardly, shifting in his seat. “He invited me out to say thank you for mentoring him, but truth be told, he’s teaching me a few things.”

“The kid’s good for that.”

“He is.”

“I wouldn’t be who I am without Sam. He is good. Better than I’ll ever be.”

“I hope he can be that for me, too.” Cas smiled, looking down at his lap.

Dean reached forward and hooked his index finger under Castiel’s chin, tilting it up. “Detective, you _ are _ good.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Bad people don’t carry this much guilt. Your shoulders are heavy. Maybe it’s time you let someone else carry some of that burden.” He smiled warmly at Castiel, almost as if to say _ I’ve got strong enough shoulders to carry the weight for the both of us. _

_ Two weeks later _

Castiel loved New York City. He was one of those New Yorkers that had it in his blood. He wasn’t a dreamer, someone who came over from Podunk Nowhere to try his hand in the arts. He wasn’t filled with love, hope, and Chanel No 5. Castiel was a New Yorker. His blood was dirty rainwater, subway tickets, and Nolita’s twenty-four hour pizza. He held his computer bag close to him, the strap across his chest like a seat belt. The air had a brisk chill, despite the exhaust pumping out of the cabs and into the street. He wanted coffee, needed some sunlight, Charlie insisted on it, and he couldn’t get what Dean said about his mom out of his head. So he left his shoebox of an apartment and went in search of caffeine.

The woman at the coffee counter smiled at him when he ordered his Americano, but he looked right past her. It wasn’t his intention to be rude, he just hadn’t been sleeping. He needed more than the single mug he was given, he needed an IV drip. 

Growing up gay made him a tough child, one not to be messed with. He didn’t have any other choice but to create a hard outer exterior. Sometimes distance was the only way. Castiel punched a little boy in the school yard for calling him a faggot. He went to the principal’s office and was given detention for fighting. Castiel’s mother threatened to move them to Staten Island, and he never hit another child again. He walked through the hallways with his head down, his brown locks in his eyes. He could be himself in college. He could fall in love _ someday_. He didn’t have to be _ so gay_. He didn’t have to get in fights.

_ “Let people see what they want to see, Castiel,” _Gabriel told his little brother, as he dabbed Castiel’s black eye with an ice pack.

He winced, the pain radiating through his cheekbones and into his nose._ “Why do they care, anyway?” _

_ “Kids are bored. Nosey. Mean.” _

_ “They aren’t mean to you,” _he countered, eyeing his older brother with his one good eye.

_ “That’s because I’m funny. I laugh at myself so they can’t.“_

_ “You aren’t funny,” _Castiel said, scrunching up his nose.

_ “Hey! I’m hilarious!” _

So, if someone hit him, he let them. He didn’t fight back, even though he wanted to. Things were strict in the Novak house, growing up. The boy’s father was a police officer, a Captain, like Singer. He was rugged, stiff, and angry. He was ex-military, only no longer active duty due to an escalated case of sleep apnea. He raised his boys with a heavy hand. Home was just another place that Castiel had to hide.

Charlie had been his friend long before they were co-workers. She’d been a thorn in his side since they were fifteen years old. They were each other’s beards, prom dates, and everything in between. She was a beacon in the darkness that was his life. For awhile he suspected that he’d never love someone as much as he loved her. That maybe romance wasn’t in the cards for him. That was until Cas met _ him_. 

Inias was his next door neighbor. His father was a military man like Castiel’s. They spent the New York summer when they were seventeen working on an old ice cream truck. They’d lay in the grass in the park after a long day, plucking bubble gum eyes out of the frightening cartoon ice cream bars. 

_ “These are disgusting,” _Inias mused. 

_ “You love them,” _Castiel combatted, squinting at the beautiful blue eyed boy next to him. He didn’t know if he was gay. He didn’t think he could ask. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost Inias. There was something fragile between them. He couldn’t risk breaking it and ruining everything. 

_ “You have me confused with someone else.” _

Castiel shook his head with a wide smile and looked at the melting Tweety Bird. Inias was right, of course, it looked like a horror movie character. A wax sculpture, melting in the hot sun. The grass tickled Castiel’s ears, and the heat felt good on his skin._ “I wouldn’t confuse you, Nias. Trust me.” _

The boy propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Castiel._ “You wouldn’t, huh?” _

_ “That’s what I said,”_ he deadpanned, not looking at his friend. 

_ “What if I looked like this?” _Inias asked, putting the ice cream bar too close to Cas’ face_. _

_ “God, quit! You’re going to get it on me.” _He swatted at Inias like he was annoyed, but the boy knew better. 

_ “No I won’t!” _Inias said, right as he pushed the ice cream bar into Castiel’s lips. _“Oops, shit, you made a mess.” _

_ “You’re dead.” _

They chased each other until the ice cream was melted and they were covered in melted dairy and artificial food coloring. They laid in the grass again laughing, staring at the too-blue sky. The day was clear, and the sky was endless despite the skyscrapers cutting into it. Castiel could’ve stayed like that forever, laying in the grass with the boy he wasn’t supposed to like. 

He didn’t expect it when it happened, when Inias leaned over and pressed a sticky, artificial strawberry flavored kiss to his lips. It was brief and quick, but it left Castiel breathless. His first kiss. It was in the middle of Central Park, on a sunny summer day, with the boy from next door. It felt like a dream. 

Castiel’s father had caught them in his bedroom a month later. They had been stripped down to their underwear, Inias’ hand on Castiel’s bare chest, Castiel’s lips on Inias’ throat. It was incriminating. Mr. Novak went into a blind rage, and Castiel woke up in the hospital a day later with a broken cheekbone, wrist, and heart. Inias was gone, off to a private Catholic school out of state. 

He had moved in with Charlie after that, never looking back, and when he was eighteen, his father died in his sleep. He still hadn’t heard from Inias, but he hoped that the boy from next door was still alive. 

He knew a little something about wanting answers. He didn’t have the resources to fight his own demons, but Dean’s? He was a detective after all. Maybe he could take a look at Mary Winchester’s old cold case. He couldn’t do right by his first love, but maybe he could do better for Dean. 

He took a sip of his coffee and opened up his laptop, immediately typing away.

_ One week later _

“Hey Sammy so I was thinkin’...” Dean poked his head into the bathroom as Sam brushed through his hair, he squinted at his brother through the mirror. “You goin’ somewhere?”

“Just dinner.”

“Dinner? Is it a _ date_?” Dean teased.

“No.” Sam glared at Dean through the mirror, placing the brush on the counter. “I’m having dinner with Novak.”

“So it _ is _ a date! Do you think that’s appropriate, to be taking your partner out, Sammy? _ Unless_! Is he your _ partner _ partner?” Dean waited for Sam to counteract, _ Jesus Dean, he isn’t gay. Stop making it weird! _

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam said instead.

“Bitch.” Dean grinned widely, taking the lack of denial as a win. He folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the doorframe while Sam gargled mouthwash and splashed his face. 

When he looked up at met Dean’s eyes in the mirror, he rested his palms on the sink. “What, dude? Can I help you?”

“You seriously not gonna invite me?”

“You want to go? I got the impression that you and Novak didn’t get along.” Sam dried his face with the hand towel. 

“We had a moment.” Dean shrugged, the picture of Cas’ face as he tasted the french fry covered in milkshake still perfectly preserved in Dean’s mind. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“What I just said. We’re good. Let me go to dinner, and you can bring that cute crime scene tech, too.”

“Like a double date?”

“You said it, not me,” Dean said with his hands up, grinning widely. It wasn’t the worst idea that Sam ever had, and the concept got Dean’s stomach flipping. 

“Christ, Dean. _ No_,” Sam groaned, but Dean knew the look on his face. His eyebrow was quirked and his dimple was making an appearance on his left cheek. He was considering it.

“It won’t be a date,” Dean promised. He wouldn’t take the detective out to dinner with his _ brother _for a first date, after all. “I was kiddin’, but it may be a good opportunity to get to know everyone better. We can even invite Charlie!”

“You know Charlie?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I met her. She seemed rad.”

“Rad?” Sam raised his eyebrow. “What’s going on with you?”

“Just say yes,” Dean begged trying out Sam’s patented puppy dog eyes. “I’ll call Charlie, and she’ll get the tech.”

“Her name is Eileen.”

“Fine, she will get _ Eileen _ to come. Come on, Sammy! Live a little!” Dean ruffled his brother’s hair. When begging didn’t work, his next go to was to be as annoying as possible. He wasn’t proud of the tactic, but it was effective. 

“Okay, okay! Just get off my back.” Sam swatted at his brother and tried to fix his mop again. 

Dean grabbed Sam by the face and placed a big wet kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, bro.”

“Gross, get the fuck off of me.” Sam laughed, shoving him out of the bathroom. 

“You love me!” Dean called back, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He went into his closet to find something to wear, because he was seeing the detective, and damn it if it made him sound like a chick, but he was fucking excited. 

“Do not!”

Dean made good on his promise and Charlie arrived with Eileen at the restaurant promptly at eight o’clock. Castiel arrived five minutes late. He looked a little more casual than Dean and Sam were used to seeing him. He wore a nice pair of dark jeans, with a light blue button up untucked and a tweed blazer. Dean raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t had a professor fantasy before that exact moment. He adjusted his red flannel, suddenly not feeling as attractive as he had a moment before, and he ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

“Rookie.” Castiel raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell me you invited the entire precinct.”

“I didn’t.” Sam smiled awkwardly. “Dean invited himself.”

“And everyone heard and couldn’t wait to spend time with me.” Dean batted his eyelashes at Castiel, taking a step closer to him.

“I’m so sure.”

“Eileen, this is my brother Dean,” Sam spoke out loud, fingerspelling Dean’s name slowly.

“Dean,” Eileen said, offering her hand.

He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “M’lady.”

“Alright, bitches, let’s eat,” Charlie said with a wide, toothy grin.

“Good idea,” Cas said, looking a little green.

They settled into their seats and the waitress came around getting their drink orders, Sam ordering an iced tea, and everyone else ordering beer and wine. His cheeks grew pinker by the second, and Dean smirked at his brother. Eileen tapped Sam’s arm and signed,_ okay_? He nodded, offering her a smile, and she laughed in response.

Dean leaned over next to him where Castiel was sitting. “So, Detective. Want me to order for you?”

“No.” He sat up a little higher in his chair and glared at Dean. “I can order for myself.”

“Yeah, Dean, he isn’t some bombshell,” Charlie whispered from Dean’s other side. How he got stuck between them was beyond him. He’d been so focused on sitting next to that fucking tweed blazer that he didn’t notice Charlie on his left until he was already settled. “He can order for himself.”

Dean smirked, realizing that Charlie hadn’t been let in on their burger date. “Yeah, but my taste is better. Right, Cas?” Castiel looked uncomfortable, and the fact that Dean was getting under his skin was lighting him on fire. He wanted to press the detective’s buttons until he burst. 

Sam’s eyes widened at the two of them. “Am I missing something?”

“No,” Cas said quickly, shooting Dean a look. “Nothing to miss.”

“Uh huh.” Dean shrugged, moving his attention back to his menu.

They all got to talking about work. Eileen explained to them some different deaf jokes, and Sam laughed along with her, his eyes bright and shiny. Dean smiled to himself; it was nice to see his little brother wrapped up in something that wasn’t murder. Someone alive.

“So, Dean,” Charlie said, leaning into him. “You’re a writer?”

“I am. A journalist.” He smiled widely, proud to finally be talking about something that he could really participate in.

“But he used to write all kinds of crazy stories growing up,” Sam said, taking a bite of his salad. “He wrote all kinds of short stories about monsters.”

“Creepy.” Charlie grinned. “I love a good horror story.”

“So do I.” Dean met her smile. He could almost see it then, Cas’ tweed jacket slung over the back of his couch, he and Charlie teasing the detective until his cheeks pinked up. 

“So, what brought you to journalism instead of creative writing?” Castiel asked, mindlessly poking his dinner salad with his fork.

“I wanted a job,” Dean laughed.

“How’s that working for you?” Sam asked with a shit-eating grin.

Dean flipped him off.

“Are you working on anything right now?” Eileen asked, watching his lips for a response.

He glanced at Castiel with a smirk. “Yeah, I’m workin’ on somethin’.”

Heat crawled up Castiel’s neck at the double meaning of his words, and Dean noticed that he adjusted his collar to try to cover his growing embarrassment. “Got a little somethin’,” Dean murmured, taking his napkin, patting some non-existent dressing off Cas’ lip. “Got it,” he whispered devilishly. Another button was pressed, and Dean intended to find them all and learn what they each did. 

Charlie snorted, since she apparently wasn’t as blind as the rest of the group, and Castiel shot her a look in response. 

“Anything interesting?”

“Still decidin’,” Dean said with a wicked grin.

“I’m going to use the facilities,” Castiel announced, clearing his throat as he stood up. He moved his napkin from his lap and back onto the table. Nodding to the group, he quickly walked to the back of the restaurant. 

“I’m gonna go, too. Be right back.” Dean said not a moment later, winking at Charlie, glad that Sam was wrapped up in a sign language conversation with Eileen. He was still pretty bad at signing, so it took all of his attention. 

Dean followed the signs to the bathroom, but before he pushed in, he noticed the back door propped open. His palm moved from the bathroom door and walked out into the night air. 

Castiel was pressed against the stone wall, sucking in smoke from his cigarette. 

“Stressed out, Detective?” Dean asked, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching the detective suck the smoke into his mouth and let it back out. He wondered if Castiel knew how erotic he looked when he smoked, with his lips curled around the cigarette, and the way his eyes rolled back in his head, his shoulders relaxing with the breath. 

“To put it mildly,” Cas said coolly, the nicotine seeming to do its job to calm him down. “What’re you doing out here, Dean?”

“Checkin’ on you.” He put his hands in his pockets. Now that they were alone there was a new pit growing inside of Dean’s stomach. “Am I... am I making you uncomfortable?” 

Castiel coughed in response, as if the smoke went down the wrong tube in his throat. “Are you... Why would you be?”

“Because I’m trying to flirt with you,” Dean said with an estaterbated groan, as if it was obvious. “And damn it, my gaydar is usually shit. So if you’re not into it then you’ve gotta...” 

“I am gay,” Castiel said quickly, his eyes immediately widening, as if he couldn’t believe the words came out of his mouth. 

Dean smiled widely, letting out a sigh of relief. He moved away from the wall, taking a step closer to the detective. “So does that mean you are into it, Cas? Because if not, this is a real weird way to turn me down.” 

Castiel took one more puff of his cigarette before stomping it out on the damp sidewalk. He turned to Dean. “I’m not...” He paused, licking his bottom lip as if he was choosing his words carefully. “Opposed.” 

Deans grin grew even wider, his arms falling from their crossed position back to his sides. “Color me surprised, Novak. You like my antics after all.” 

“I wouldn’t say that.”

He took a step closer to the detective, almost closing the space between them. “Then what would you say? Is it my bad boy aesthetic? I’ll have you know, I still haven’t paid those parking tickets.” Dean pressed his palm above Castiel’s head on the brick wall. He could feel Cas’ breath on his lips as he looked down at the detective, not trying to conceal his smile. 

“You’re a regular degenerate.” Castiel smirked up at him a bit, quirking his eyebrow. “I may have to bring you in for that.” 

Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he let out an airy, breathless laugh. “You’ll have to catch me first, Detective,” Dean murmured before taking Castiel’s cheek in his free hand, closing the space between them completely, pressing his lips to Cas’ in a hard, urgent kiss.


	3. Acts

** **

**Part Three- Acts**

_ “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved.” Acts 4:12 _

* * *

* * *

Castiel’s homosexuality wasn’t a secret, by any means. He never tried to hide it, but he also didn’t go out of his way to come out to anyone. It was hard enough being taken seriously in the police force without adding being gay into the mix. It was a big factor when Cas decided that he didn’t want to have a relationship. His job was his life. Normally when someone would ask him questions about his sexuality, he would avoid it at all costs. So when Dean asked, and the words _ I’m gay _ spilled from Castiel’s lips he felt a little shell shocked. 

The moment that Dean kissed him, though, that all melted away. 

He wouldn’t have imagined a back alley behind a restaurant as romantic, but despite the dumpster and the fresh smoke on his lips, it was. Dean leaned over him like he was a goddamn quarterback, and Castiel was the homecoming queen. He leaned in and kissed Cas like it was his job. It was urgent, Dean pressing his lips against Cas’ with a pressure that kept building. 

He could feel himself sigh against Dean’s mouth as he opened his lips to invite him in. His arms went around Dean’s torso, his fingers trailing over the flannel shirt and resting against his spine. Their tongues brushed, and Castiel felt his insides light on fire. Their noses bumped slightly as he tilted his chin up to allow Dean better access to the kiss. He had a distinct whiskey taste on his tongue from his dinner drink, and it was quite literally intoxicating. 

Dean pressed into him more, their chests connecting, legs tangling. Castiel stole one last look at Dean before closing his eyes and succumbing to to the feeling of being kissed. His chin was rough from his evening shadow, scraping against Cas’ neck as his lips hovered over his pulse point. 

The kisses were warm against his throat, collarbone, and at the collar of his shirt. Dean’s deft fingers worked Castiel’s buttons down, leaving a hot, wet kiss in his wake. He felt his nipples perk up in the cold air, as the gentle droplets of rain settled on his eyebrows. 

He hadn’t even noticed the rain, but if he was being honest, he didn’t give a shit. Not while Dean’s surprisingly soft fingers grazed over his chest, down his stomach, landing at his waistband, and gripping it tightly. He could feel Dean’s lips trail down his chest, capturing his nipple with a heated lick. His head lolled back, pressing against the brick of the building. He cursed under his breath, moving his hands from Dean’s back and into his hair. 

His hands halted at a hat, soft wool fabric, like a pageboys. Had Dean been wearing that the entire time? Surely Cas would’ve remembered… his thought process quickly melted away as Dean’s tongue left a saliva trail from his nipple down his stomach. 

He felt like all his breath would escape his body, and he tossed the hat away mindlessly to massage his fingers into Dean’s hair. He wasn’t the kind of man to accept any sort of sexual favors in a back alley, but he wasn’t sure if it was physically possible for him to tell Dean no. 

Dean kissed and licked along his waistband as his fingers went to work, running along the length of his tightening groin. He could feel warm liquid dripping from Dean’s lips and onto the front of his pants. With one fluid motion Dean unbuttoned his pants, sliding them lower on Cas’ legs. He sucked in his breath as he felt Dean’s fingers grip his thighs tightly. 

Another raindrop fell on his face, and a small wet pebble hit his bare thigh, then another. _ Shit, it’s hailing. _“Dean we should-” he began, letting his eyes flutter open, but when he looked down at Dean he stood frozen. 

A set of bright blue eyes looked up at Castiel, ruffled hair from the discarded hat, and a dark, full beard that glinted red in the street lamp. His unbuttoned henley was coated in deep, wet blood, his detective badge hanging loosely around his neck. When he opened his mouth, blood ran from his lips. “It’s okay, Detective. Just let me,” he slurred, offering a big toothless smile. He wasn’t Dean, and it wasn’t hail. _ It was teeth. _

Castiel’s chest and waist were covered in blood, he fell backwards, his back hitting the brick wall as he tried to stumble away. His grip was tight, his fingers hard against Cas’ thighs. “Let go of me!” He looked around, frantically trying to find an escape, a way out, _ something. _

The man kneeling in Dean’s place ran his tongue over one of the only remaining teeth in his mouth, the entirety of his front covered in wet, hot, sticky blood. The tooth wiggled before falling out, and as it crashed to the ground, a fly flew from his open mouth, buzzing around Castiel’s face. “Don’t you want me, Detective?” His voice was distorted; it didn’t belong to Dean. He walked to Castiel, closing the space between them, his breath was on Cas’ mouth, and it smelled like something rotting. 

He put his hands on the man’s chest and shoved him as hard as he could, gagging from the smell, but the grip he had on Cas was absolute, sending them both falling, his stomach in his throat, as he watched the blackness within the gaping, open mouth, as if it was going to swallow him whole. 

He sat up in bed, the feeling of falling yanking him out of his nightmare and placing him safely back in bed. His heart was pounding, and he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Fuck,” he muttered, immediately jumping as his cellphone rang at his bedside table. His stomach dropped as he saw Dean’s name on his caller ID. He declined the call, silencing the ring, and placing the phone facedown on his bedside table. 

_ A week later _

“Whatcha workin’ on?” 

“Dean?” Sam asked, looking up from his paperwork. “Mugging gone wrong. The woman wouldn’t give up her wedding ring. Single gunshot wound to the head.” From the scattered papers surrounding him, Dean figured that his brother was drowning in paperwork. 

“That’s the pits.” He held up a brown paper bag with a smile. “Hadn’t heard from you in a few hours. Thought you might be hungry.”

“You thought right.” Sam grinned. “What’d you get?”

“Burgers,” he said wryly. “From the good place.”

“Sweet,” his brother grabbed for the bag greedily. “I missed breakfast, and the coffee is eating at me.” 

“Yeah, can’t drink too much of that stuff or it’ll stunt your growth,” Dean said distracted. 

“Not sure there’s any real concern for that,” Sam chuckled, his arm was already digging in the bag, his eyes glazing over.

“Hey, where’s Novak? He around?”

“Why?” His younger brother eyed him over the paper bag.

It’d been over a week since the dinner, and Castiel was avoiding Dean. When they’d seen each other it’d been brief, but full of longing looks and sideways comments. Dean would call, and be sent to voicemail. He didn’t know what the fuck he did wrong, but he was over it. He wanted to get Castiel’s attention, and the best way he knew to do that was showing up where he couldn't be avoided. “Just curious.” He shrugged, his eyes scanning the precinct. 

“Oh. Right. Uh, he’s around here somewhere. Maybe in the evidence room,” Sam said. He was already giving his lunch longing looks and couldn’t be bothered. 

“Hm,” Dean said, licking his bottom lip. “Where’s the bathroom? Figure I’d hit the head before I get out of here.”

“Sure. It’s back that way,” Sam said, loosely gesturing. His gaze was fixed back on his paperwork, his burger at his lips. 

Dean had always been good at directions, it was probably due to all of the cross country travel after he graduated high school. It was a writer’s quest to never sit still. He fought the stories, following them endlessly, without a GPS. So he was able to find the evidence room easily. Plus, it was clearly labeled. 

He opened the door, exposing a dark room, lit only by a single bulb in the center of the room. There were shelves full of boxes that were labeled with dates and names. It felt crowded, but Sam was right. Castiel was tucked in the corner, pouring through papers in a box. He turned to the sound of the door opening, the light from the hallway spilling in.

The detective squinted. “Dean? What’re you doing here?”

“Oh shit, this isn’t the bathroom, is it?” He joked, pulling the door shut behind him, sealing them off from the rest of the world. 

“What gave it away?” Castiel deadpanned. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” Dean asked, his words spilling over Castiel’s. The older Winchester wasn’t known for his subtly, and he knew it. 

Castiel pressed the file in his hands to his chest, covering his heart. “What makes you think I’m avoiding you?”

He groaned, crossing his arms. “Cas, I’m annoying. I know that. Okay? It isn’t my first time being avoided.” Dean smiled sadly. “Was it the kiss? You’re not into it? You could’ve just said...”

“It’s not...” Castiel sighed. “It isn’t _ that_. I just don’t… date.”

“Funny,” Dean smirked, taking a step closer to Cas. He took the avoidance as an invitation, at least until he was told otherwise. “I don’t remember asking you on a date. Pretty presumptuous, Detective.” 

“That’s a valid point.” Castiel sat down the file, his eyes flickering away from Dean’s. He hated when Cas did that. He was always looking away, when all Dean wanted to see were a set of blue eyes fixed on his own. 

“So, it’s going out that worries you?” He raised his eyebrow, letting his arms and defenses down. “Because we don’t have to go out.”

Castiel considered this, scratching his chin. “Are you propositioning me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Detective? So naughty.” He pursed his lips, the familiar flirt bringing him all the way to where Castiel was standing. “But no. I thought maybe we could... I don’t know. Hang out? Watch a movie? Something low key.” 

“You want to _ hang out _ with me?”

“That surprise you?”

“Yes,” Castiel said carefully. “I don’t exactly have friends, Dean.”

“Charlie is your friend.”

“Charlie is an enigma.”

“True. She’s a firecracker.”

“To say the least.”

“So,” Dean began, cornering the detective against the shelves as his fingers brushed Cas’. “What do you think? I can come over. I make some damn good bacon cheese fries.”

“You want to come to my apartment?”

“I figured you wouldn’t want Sammy to know that we are friends.”

“Is that what we are?”

“I’d like us to be.” Dean shrugged. His stature was casual, his shoulders relaxed, but his gaze told a different story. His green eyes were intense and unwavering against Castiel’s. They hungrily flickered to his lips. He didn’t want to be the detective’s friend, but it was a start. 

“Seems like your motives are innocent enough.” Castiel’s tongue shot out to run across his own dry lips, and Deans tongue copied the motion on his own. 

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “I have the evening off tonight,” he said carefully.

“What a coincidence.” Dean grinned mischievously, his eyes memorizing the way Castiel looked in the single-bulb lighting of the closet. “So do I.”

_ Later that afternoon _

At Dean's knock the door opened, and his eyebrows quirked when he saw how relaxed Castiel looked, wearing a pair of jeans and a police academy T-shirt with no shoes, his hair looking tousled. _ He is so fucking cute. _ “I brought the stuff,” he said smiling widely, his eyes darting back and forth as if he was hiding something suspicious. He held up a shopping bag full of shredded cheese, bacon, chives, sour cream, ranch dressing, and frozen french fries. “Hope you have beer.”

“I do,” Cas said, opening his door a little wider. “Come on in.”

The detective’s apartment was plain, to say the least. The walls were cream colored, the picture frames were far and few between, and still held the smiling faces on the stock photos inside them. “Nice place,” Dean said, raising an eyebrow. It was cramped, and void of color. He was sure if he looked around the side of the couch he would find that it still had its tags on. The apartment reminded him of who Cas pretended to be. 

“I don’t spend a lot of time here.” 

“I can see that,” he laughed, pushing past Castiel into the kitchen. “I’m assuming you have a pan to make these in?” He shook the bag of frozen fries. 

Castiel nodded and pointed to the cabinet next to the oven. “Help yourself.” 

He smiled to himself, pulling out the pan. Cas’ cabinets were wonderfully organized and most of the pans looked unused. He placed the pan on the counter and turned back to the detective who was picking at a string on his shirt. “So, I was thinking we could watch some True Crime, or is that too on the nose?” 

Castiel raised an eyebrow, looking up from his string. “Too on the nose.” He cracked open a beer and handed one to Dean with a smile. 

He laughed and nodded, preheating the oven. He dumped the fries into the pan and stuck them in the oven. “They’ll cook for ten minutes, and I’ll add the cheese.” He pressed his beer to his lips and took a swig. The cool foam trailed down his throat, and he turned to Cas, leaning against the counter. 

“So...” Castiel said, shifting his weight awkwardly. His movements reminded Dean of the way he looked on the dance floor at the club. 

“Is this awkward, Detective?” He chuckled and eyed Castiel who looked up at Dean through his dark eyelashes, following the curve of Cas’ lips, down his throat, and onto his too-stretched-out collar on his academy shirt. He was usually so put together, and there was something intimate about seeing him like that, in his own element, close to falling apart. 

“A little,” Cas admitted. “Like I said, I don’t date.” 

“Thought this wasn’t a date.” He raised an eyebrow, smirking a bit, as he stepped a little closer to Castiel. 

“It’s not,” Cas said avoiding his eyes. Deans heart ached seeing the detective so shy and excluded. He wanted to break him open and see everything inside that he was hiding. 

“I have an idea,” Dean said suddenly, walking into Castiel’s living room. He glanced around before finding the one thing he expected to find. He grinned widely. “How’d I know you’d have one?”

Castiel followed him right to the record player, his cheeks pink. “Perhaps I’m too predictable? Too old fashioned? Charlie says I’m an old man.”

He smiled back at Castiel, a glint in his eye as he shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s it.” He squatted down and looked through the records. They had a lot of the same taste in music, and he couldn’t have asked for anything better in a partner. “Bingo,” Dean said, pulling one out. “Awesome.” He ran his fingers along the record. It wasn’t a new album, but the record cover looked pristine, recently purchased, or perhaps never listened to. “I’m glad they’re still making albums on vinyl.” 

“It’s the only way to listen to them,” Castiel agreed, his hands shoved In his pockets. “It keeps them from sounding so electronic.” 

“Exactly.” He smiled back as he stood up, and put the record in place. “I even like the time in between songs. That lull.” It was like magic, putting an electricity in the air. It insisted on feelings, tugging at his chest. 

_ Your eyes are moist, you scream and shout as though you were a man possessed. From deep inside comes rushing forth, all the anguish you suppressed. _

“Why this one?”

“Well, I’ve seen your regular dance moves,” Dean grinned, reaching his hand out to Cas. His palm was facing up in an invitation. “Now I want to know how you can handle a slower song.” 

Castiel raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking at his hand. “You want to... slow dance with me?”

“You know, for a detective, you’re kind of dense. Isn’t it your job to put two and two together?” 

“Shut up,” Cas snarked, taking Dean's hand, and let himself be pulled closely. 

Dean placed his hand on Cas' lower back, just above his belt, feeling Cas' warm body through the soft fabric of his t-shirt as they gently started swaying in the living room. It was awkward at first, Castiel was stiff, and Dean was actively trying not to press up against him. 

_ It’s never too late to start all over again_. 

But the song was getting to them. Dean loved that fucking song. “You know, Detective, this was a ploy for me to hold you. Ya know that, right?” His fingers stroked along Cas’ spine, pulling him just a little closer. 

“I figured as much.” Castiel smiled, looking into Dean’s eyes. 

The blue of his eyes was so soft, calming, and_ fuck_, his eyes were dark blue at the edges, fading into lighter blue around the iris. Their chests brushed and he squeezed Cas’ fingers in his. _ Damn his eyes are so blue. _“And you’re okay with that?”

“You’re annoying,” Cas clarified, squeezing his hand back gently. “But I have to admit... You’re one hell of a dancer, Dean.” 

“Sweetheart, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he said, spinning Castiel a few times, watching his eyes widen in surprise. His messy hair seemed to whip as he spun, his lips open in an almost gasp. He pulled Castiel close before spinning him out again, clearly showing off. The detective let out small bursts of laughter from his normally-closed lips as if he couldn’t hold it back anymore. He looked like he was having fun. When Cas was spun back in, Dean captured those lips with his own. 

_ “Well, fuck me sideways, Detective, you’re one hell of a kisser,” _Dean said with a huge grin as he tried to take in the fact that he just kissed Castiel. That he started something, but in the darkness of the alley behind the restaurant they were still hidden from sight. They could still take everything back if they had to. 

_ “You know how to ruin a moment, don’t you, Winchester?” _Castiel asked him breathlessly, their noses still brushing. 

_ “Just stating the obvious.” _

_ “So am I.” _

_ “Does that mean that you don’t want to do it again?” _Dean tilted his head to the side, trying to ignore the fact that his brother and Cas’ co-workers were waiting for them back in the restaurant. 

Castiel placed a hand on either side of Deans face, running his thumbs along his cheekbones and jaw. _“I didn’t say that.” _

Dean had kissed a lot of people, and slept with almost as many as he’d kissed, but Castiel hadn’t, he knew that much. Cas was choosey, and he was choosing _ Dean_. That meant something, so he kissed the detective tenderly and with care. It wasn’t like he was trying to fuck, but like they were getting to know each other. It wasn’t a date, it was _ better _ than a date. 

When the timer went off, Dean pulled himself away from the detective’s embrace, reluctantly walking back to the kitchen. He added the cheese and bacon to the fries and popped them in for another five minutes. “Hope you’re hungry.” 

“Starving.” 

Dean turned to him, and Castiel pulled him into another kiss. This one was urgent, needy. _ Starving _ was exactly right. He felt Cas run his tongue along his bottom lip, begging for entrance, for connection. _ So much for slow_. 

Dean didn’t mind, and he eagerly opened his mouth to allow Castiel to taste him. He could feel the kitchen counter pressing against his back, Castiel’s chest tight against his. Cas licked into his mouth, and Dean smiled a bit in return. _ Maybe I was wrong_, Dean thought with a smirk. _ Maybe the detective doesn’t need to be handled with care, after all. _

Snaking his hands under the academy t-shirt, he ran his fingers along Cas’ soft skin, counting each rib. Castiel’s protruding ribs only confirmed Dean’s suspicions that he didn’t eat enough and worried too much. There were just too many criminals that he couldn’t put away; that he couldn’t catch. 

The timer dinged, letting them know that the fries were done. “Let me get them, so they don’t burn,” Dean said against Castiel’s mouth. The detective nodded with a whine, backing up. His lips were swollen and pink from being kissed, his pupils wide. Dean couldn’t help but smile. He looked beautiful. Dean always thought that beauty was exclusive to women, but looking at Castiel in that moment proved him wrong. The detective was just unapologetically beautiful, and Dean wondered if that was what Cas looked like in the morning, right when he woke up. He wondered a lot of things. 

He turned to take out the fries with a pot holder and put them on the stove top. “They smell good,” Cas commented as his phone rang in the other room. “Excuse me.” He flattened his hair from where Dean ran his fingers through, as if whoever was calling could see. 

“Sure thing.” Dean saluted him lamely, and dolloped some sour cream on top of the fries. He hummed the tune to the record that they’d been listening to, the same record that was on a lull, humming static between tracks. He could hear Castiel talking quietly in the other room, before returning. He didn’t look right, his shoulders tight again, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Everything okay?”

“Actually, no.” 

“What’s wrong?” Dean looked at him fully then, he _ really _ looked at him. Cas’ eyes were back to a squint, any joy behind them were replaced by something else. Concern, maybe? Something serious. 

“There was another murder.”

“What? Shit, who?”

Dean watched Castiel’s head spin behind his eyes. He looked pale, green. “Remember the courthouse?”

“When we went to get burgers? Yeah. How could I forget?” He held Castiel’s forearms to keep him steady. “Maybe you should sit down...”

“No,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “It was him.” 

“The guy who got off? He killed someone?”

Castiel shook his head insistently, his voice shaking. Dean couldn’t tell if it was from anger or fear. “No. He was the one killed.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Dean tilted his head to catch Castiel’s eyes. 

“It was the same M.O. as Crowley.” Castiel licked his bottom lip, trying to gather up the words to explain. “This isn’t a coincidence. We think we have a serial killer on our hands.”

“Cas, you really don’t look so good... maybe you should...”

“No.” He pulled away from Dean and ran his hands through his hair. “I have to go to the scene. Sam’s already on his way there.”

“Let me come with you,” Dean said, putting a hand on the Detective’s shoulder. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

_ At the crime scene _

“What have we got?” Sam asked as he stepped over the crime scene tape. 

“Male, late forties. Stab wound in the chest. I’d place time of death from roughly six hours ago,” Eileen said. She didn’t bother signing because she still crouched over the victim, and her hands were examining the wound. 

Sam squatted in front of her, the vic between them, so she could catch his lips easier. “You think it’s the same weapon as last time?”

“No doubt.” She pointed at the wound. “See these? Definitely made by the same weapon. It’s unique.”

“Should make it easier to find.”

“In New York? Nothing is easy to find.” She gave him a cheesy smile, glancing at him through a loose piece of hair that escaped her messy ponytail.

“That’s because usually I’m not the one looking.”

“Cocky.” She smirked and signed, _ cute _. 

He winked and signed, _ same_. “You too,” he mouthed. 

“Aw, are you bonding over a crime scene?”

“Dean?” Sam perked his head up to his brother. “What’re you doing here?”

He stood with his hands in his pockets next to a frazzled Castiel, who was still wearing his loungewear with his gun and badge on his hip. 

“Saw the detective on my way over and figured you guys could use my expertise,” Dean said flippantly, as he actively avoided looking at Castiel.

“What expertise?”

“Rookie, what’d you figure out?” Cas asked him, his voice strained.

“Not much, honestly. We were just getting started. How’d you hear? It’s your night off, man, I could’ve handled it.” 

“Captain told me. This is personal,” he said, kneeling next to the body. “Certainly looks like the same M.O. as before.” 

“Eileen says it’s the same weapon,” Sam agreed, pointing to the marks around the wound with his pen. “She says it’s a unique knife. Possibly one of a kind.”

“Have you checked for a verse yet?” He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers. “Get me a pair of gloves.” Sam glanced around before locating the black rubber gloves, handed him a pair, and Cas slid them on. 

The man was wearing a simple white button up shirt that showed the blood soaking into the thin fabric. Cas squinted and slid his fingers into the breast pocket of the shirt. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, and stood up carefully unfolding the page.

“For the one in authority is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for rulers do not bear the sword for no reason. They are God’s servants, agents of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer. Romans 13:4.” Cas’ eyes flickered up to his, before Sam’s eyes settled on the back of the verse. 

“Wait, Novak, look.” Sam moved closer to him. “Look at the back of the page, there's something else. It’s blank, and the Bible doesn’t have blank pages.”

He raised an eyebrow and flipped it over. He held up the page to show Sam. There was another page pressed gently to the back of the Bible page with the circled script. He carefully peeled the pages apart, to avoid causing any damage. The page was typed, unlike the crude _ ME _ that had been written on the last message.

Cas squinted at it, all of the color draining from his face. “What the fuck?” He mumbled, his eyes widening in disbelief. 

“What is it, Novak?” Sam asked, sitting up straighter.

“Castiel, what is it?” Sam asked slowly, watching his mentors lip twitch as he read whatever was on the page. Castiel sucked in his breath, shoving the page at Sam. He stood up completely from his crouched position, turning away from the scene. His hands held himself up, pressing against his knees as he retched, emptying his stomach into a nearby bush. 

“Hey,” Dean said, helping Cas to hold himself upright. “I gotcha, Buddy. Let it out.”

Sam held the page in his fingers. Suddenly it felt incredibly heavy, like his bones could splinter under the weight. His eyes flickered down, to see what sent Novak spinning out of control. 

_ Dear Detective Novak, _

Sam looked up at Castiel, emptying the contents of his stomach as Dean stroked his back protectively. “What the fuck,” he murdered, echoing Castiel’s earlier comment. 

_ Dear Detective Novak, _

_ What does it mean to find salvation? Do you know, Detective? What exactly gets us into Heaven vs Hell? I don’t have the answer to that. Perhaps I should say a Hail Mary, or look for penance within the community. I am sure you would like to get that revenge yourself, but you are unable. That is why I am here. I saw your face in that courtroom, Detective. You did all that you could, but yet he still walked away. The system is broken. _

_ God has eradicated people before, so I hope you do not hate me for this. Do you recall the floods? The death of the first born children in Egypt? _

_ Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. Ephesians 6:11. _

_ I am doing God’s work, Detective. You must know that by now. _

_ Raguel _

“Holy shit.” It was so much worse than Sam expected. “Castiel, I...”

“Rookie,” Cas gasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His partner stared up at him through bloodshot eyes. “I need a list of everyone that was at that goddamn trial, everyone who was in and out of that courtroom. He was there. The fucking killer was there.”

_ Later that evening _

Castiel was hunched over his kitchen table, wearing his reading glasses in the low light. Photos from the crime scene, copies of the letter, the Bible verses were strewn about his kitchen table. He ran his fingers over one of the photos, along the burned wings on the grass. _ What does this mean? _

His eyes burned, he’d been staring at the information for so long that there couldn’t be any other way to see it other than the ways he’d already scribbled out on his yellow legal pad. The familiar pounding at his temples kept time with the ticking clock, reminding him of every minute, every _ second _that the murderer was still out there. 

“It’s three o’clock in the morning, Detective. I think it’s time you get some rest,” Dean said gently. 

He felt Dean’s strong hands squeeze his shoulders moving the throb from his temples, straight into his aching muscles. Dean had insisted that he would go home with Cas, make sure he hydrated and got some rest. He was more than a little restless after the case, and when Sam finally called it quits, Castiel went home to continue working. “Can’t.” He chewed on his pen, squinting at the pages.

“Waiting for those wings to take flight?” Dean asked, leaning over his shoulder to look at the photo. Dean’s thumbs rubbed deep circles in his sore muscles, causing him to groan and lean into the ache. 

“Huh?” His eyes - heavy, sleepy, burning - flickered to Dean's.

“You’re just really staring at them, is all.”

“I just don’t understand it,” Castiel sighed, defeated, placing the photograph back down. 

“They look like angels.”

“Yes, but _ why_? What’s the purpose?” He took off his reading glasses, rubbing his eyelids. He stuck the earpiece of the glasses between his teeth and bit down absentmindedly. 

“Maybe it’ll come to you after you’ve got some rest.” Dean squeezed his shoulders again, leaning down and placing a kiss on the place his thumb had been rubbing. Castiel let out a breathy sigh at the feeling of Dean’s gentle lips against his shoulder. “Because you look like hell, Cas, I know you’re tired.”

“Nobody asked you,” he grouched, even if just a little half-heartedly. 

Dean leaned down and kissed the top of his head, sending a warmth that radiated at his crown. “That’s true, but someone’s gotta say it.” Castiel was silent and still, just staring blankly at the pile of evidence. It all seemed so forgiven. He didn’t understand it any better than he had hours before, if anything he may have understood it even less. “You want me to go?” Dean asked into his hair, the words vibrating against his scalp. Castiel could feel his breath, warm and close, and he finally gave in, melting a bit into Dean’s touch. He sighed and turned in his chair, resting his hands on Dean’s hips. “No, Dean, I don’t want you to go.” 

“Come to bed.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?” He asked, attempting a tired flirt. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dean grinned back at him, leaning down to kiss him. It was quick, soft, and exactly what he needed. “But no, I’m too fucking tired. Let’s just sleep.”

Castiel’s eyes flickered back to his papers with a frustrated pit of longing growing in his gut. He knew Dean was right. He couldn’t even see straight enough to read, and the coffee was making him jittery. He was no good to anyone tired. The case would still be there in the morning, and hopefully by then he’d have the names back from the courthouse. “Fine, but don’t you try to fucking cuddle me.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Dean said with a small smile. His fingers laced with Castiel’s and pulled him to the bedroom. 

From the moment that Cas met him, didn’t take Dean to be the sleep-only type, he seemed more like a bang-your-brains-out, make-you-scream-for-god type. There was something different about the man who’d been rubbing his shoulders and slow dancing in his living room. He was unexpectedly soft, a sheep in wolf's clothing. 

His bedroom was dark, apart from the moonshine that melted through the blinds, causing lines of white light to dance across their forms. They slid under the sheets, Castiel laying on his right side, facing the window and Dean followed suit, his arm propped under his neck. Castiel could feel Dean’s eyes on his back, his finger tracing the length of Castiel’s side, and resting on his hip. 

“You don’t sleep much, do you, Detective?”

“What gave it away?” His voice was rough on his raw, coffee eaten throat. 

“I thought the grumpy look was because of me. Now I think you’re just tired.” 

“A little of both,” he said with a snort, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as Dean’s fingers circled his hip again. 

“What keeps you up?”

“Lots of things. This apartment, the job, the ones that get away,” he said as if it could ever be that simple.

Castiel felt him inch just a bit closer, a warm breath against his neck. He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into the pillowtop of his mattress. He remembered his mother laying with him as a child, tickling his back with her fingertips to lull him to sleep. The familiarity of Dean’s touches gave him an ache deep in his chest, but he still felt himself nudging closer to his touch. 

“This one didn’t get away though, Cas. He can’t hurt anyone else.”

“You’re right,” he said with a pained voice, guilt weighing on his chest. “Am I a monster for being a little happy that he’s gone?” He felt like one. 

Cas felt Dean’s fingers trail up his arm, and his hair raised like there was an excess of electricity in the room, like the air right before a storm. “No. He was the monster, Cas, not you. You don’t have to feel guilty.”

“But it was done _ for _ me.”

“Maybe it was just done for the greater good?”

“It doesn’t really matter why. A man is still dead.”

“Hey, look at me.”

He rolled over to look at Dean, feeling the sting in his eyes as they welled up. He wasn’t a cry baby, but looking at Dean’s kind, understanding eyes made him desperately want to let it all out. Men weren’t supposed to show their emotions, _ be strong_, it was a rule that Captain Novak had taught him growing up, _ boys don’t cry, Castiel, and boys sure as shit don’t kiss other boys. _

Dean wrapped an arm around him, stroking his back. “This isn’t on you. He was a bad person, and he got ganked. You didn’t knife him, did ya?”

“No, of course not. How could I have? I was with you.”

“Wasn’t accusing you, Detective. I just meant, how can this be your fault if you didn’t kill him?” 

He swallowed hard, sucking his emotions back into his gut. It was hard not to believe Dean when his breath was warm against Cas’ lips, and his eyes reflected glints of green against grey in the moonlight. “I guess you’re right..”

“I am right.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to Castiel’s. “And the sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispered in response, pulling Dean closer, and he buried his face in the took of Dean’s neck, leaving a soft kiss on his skin. “Now let’s sleep,” he mumbled, his body finally screaming out for rest, screaming out for a moment of fucking peace, of anything other than the fear and pain that swirled in his gut. 

“Deal.” Dean started to pull away, but Castiel wrapped his arms tighter. “Thought you said no cuddling, Detective,” Dean teased, smiling in response as he snuggled in closer, letting his chin rest on the detectives head. He murmured, “Don’t worry, Sweetheart, I’ve got you. Rest easy.” 

Castiel clutched Dean in exhaustion, as if the man could pull all of his pain out of him like a sponge. Then Castiel allowed himself to do what he hadn’t done in a long time, he fell asleep in the arms of a man, a man that he was quickly slipping, tripping, _ falling _in love with. 

_ Later _

Castiel was running, his feet slapping the concrete. He leapt to avoid a pothole, a rat skittering away at the smack of his shoes against the asphalt. He was in pursuit, his heartbeat pulsing in his throat. He pushed harder, wishing he didn’t use so much starch on his pants. He could feel the fabric scratch against his legs, he was too stiff, he couldn’t run fast enough. He wasn’t going to make it there in time. 

He pushed himself, turning into the alleyway as he watched the leg of his perp disappear around the side of the building. New York City was a maze of buildings, and he was the mouse. He pushed harder, his lungs and muscles screaming out in pain. He had to get there. The pounding of the perp’s feet sounded further away, like raindrops on a window. Which way did he go? 

The alleyway felt endless. No matter how hard he ran, or how fast, he never got any closer to the end. The old brick buildings on either side of him felt infinitely tall, reaching up to the sky, far above where the rain began. He wondered if they ascended into heaven. The further into the alley he ran the closer the walls came, his elbows bumping and scraping against the bricks. 

The muscles in his legs felt like they were ripping, tearing. His pants held on tighter, more stiff. His knees could barely bend, but he forced them. He hoped that they wouldn’t snap in half. His arms scraped against the brick, breaking through the fabric of his clothes and his skin. Blood started dripping down his arms, onto his hands. 

How long had it been? A minute? An hour? It felt like he had been running for as long as he could remember. It was like being on a treadmill, endlessly going forward. He pushed, and pushed, and _ pushed, _ pulling out his gun from the holster on his back. His elbows hit the walls. He couldn’t move forward any further; he was trapped. The walls caved in closer and closer, crushing his arms, his ribcage. The pressure increased at his temples, and the alleyway seemed to morph in front of his eyes, wave and shift as his vision blurred. He gasped for air as the figure he’d been chasing turned to look at him. He couldn't see a face, it was bathed in darkness, and the body was barely visible against the brick. All he saw was a bright, white-toothed smile glowing in the darkness. 

The smile split open, cracking up the cheeks, up past the cheekbones, exposing countless fangs, and Castiel expected to hear the same echoed words that he heard every night. _ “Cas, get the fuck out of here!” _ But instead, the mouth began to laugh. It was a low, tantalizing cackle, small at first and then increasingly louder. It was like a taunt, and he struggled against his restraints. The figure approached him, unbothered by the tightness of the walls, and leaned in with its shapeless face as if to tell him something, and when it opened its mouth to speak, Castiel’s ears were assaulted with the continuous _ beep beep beep _of his morning alarm. 

_ One week later _

“How long does it take to get a fucking list of names?” Castiel asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was sick of bureaucracy, rules, and fucking red tape. They weren’t making any progress, and the weight of Azazel’s murder was almost more than he could manage. “Anything on the name that was signed at the end of the letter?” 

“Actually, yeah,” Sam said, pulling out his laptop. He typed in a few things before turning the screen toward Castiel so he could read it. “Check this out. According to my research, Raguel is an angel. He’s mainly in Judaic traditions, but he’s considered the Archangel of Justice. His name literally means Friend of God. He’s known for justice, fairness, harmony, vengeance, and redemption.” 

Castiel scratched his scruffy chin. He needed to shave, but that required him to be at home, which he’d barely been in the last few days. “Fits the motif alright.” He let out an angry sigh, his fist colliding with the desk, causing his coffee cup to shake. “But it doesn’t point to anything specific. The guy is using a Christian Bible. It doesn’t make any fucking sense.” 

“I know you’re feeling a little lost,” Sam said, leaning forward, meeting his eyes. A silver crucifix slipped from his shirt collar, catching Castiel’s eye. “But we are doing all we can.”

“Right,” Cas said, his eyes locking on the chain around Sam’s neck. His throat was dry, tongue sandpaper. “And what we can’t do is left to God, right?”

“That’s one way to look at it. Keep positive. It always helps me.” Sam offered an encouraging smile, slapping his shoulder.

“Novak, Winchester, how is the serial killer case coming?” Captain Singer asked, as he came out of his office, Charlie following at his heels. He looked older every time Cas saw him, his beard more and more peppered, and his eyes tired under his official cap. He wondered if that’s what he looked like to Sam, to Dean. 

“At a standstill, unfortunately,” Castiel said with a huff, a little like a petulant child. “Waiting for documentation from the courthouse, they’re dragging their feet.”

“Then I guess you’ll have some extra time to take another case,” the Captain said, dropping the file on Castiel’s desk.

“Thanks Cap.” He forced a tight-lipped smile.

“I live to please,” Captain Singer said dryly before turning to return to his office. 

“Ooooo, another case?” Charlie asked, perching herself on Castiel’s desk. 

“Apparently.” 

“What’s wrong, Cassy?” 

“Don’t call me that,” he complained, rubbing his face. To say he was tired would be a vast understatement. 

“I think it’s time for lunch. Don’t you?” She poked his nose with a smile. “Bobby! I’m going to take my lunch now. Don’t miss me too much!” She grabbed Castiel’s hand. “Let’s go, Cranky.” 

“I’ll get my coat,” Sam said with a smile.

“Nope, sorry Winchester. This is a gays only date.” She laid her head on Castiel’s shoulder, and he shot her a _ look _. 

“Alright, fine. I’ll order take out and start on the case,” Sam sighed as he picked up the file off Castiel’s desk. 

“Good job, Rookie,” Charlie said, standing on her tippy toes so she could ruffle his shaggy hair. “Now let's go, Grumpy.” 

Castiel forced a strained smile and grabbed his coat to join Charlie. He was glad that she was forcing him out to the office, if she hadn’t he would’ve had vending machine food for lunch. Again. 

“So,” she began as they exited the precinct, pulling her coat together to combat the brisk air. 

“What?” Castiel walked with his hands in his coat pockets, enjoying the rays of sun between the clouds. 

“What do you mean, _ what_? Don’t act so innocent!”

“Charlie, I assure you, I don’t know what you mean.”

She turned toward him and punched his shoulder. He rubbed where she hit with a frown, her knuckles causing a minor ache to trickle through him. “You’re really denying it? I came by your place to check on you the other night, and I saw a sexy piece of man meat in your window! You had a sleepover with the other brother!” 

Castiel felt heat creep up his neck, and he popped up the collar of his trench coat to hide it from view, as if he could hide _ anything _from Charlie. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Holy shit, Cranky! How are you still so disgruntled if you’re having sex?”

“We are not having sex!”

“Okay, I’m so sure. What, did you just _ sleep_? Am I really supposed to believe that?”

“Actually, yes,” he said, straightening the collar on his coat. 

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.” 

“What’s wrong with him? Is he straight?” Charlie raised an eyebrow, stopping at a cart on the street to get a hot dog. “You won’t hear me say this twice,” she murmured to him before turning to the vendor with a large grin. “One weiner with all the fixin’s please!” 

“I’ll have the same,” Castiel said dryly, ignoring Charlie’s waggling, insinuating eyebrows. 

They walked a little further down the street, hot dogs in hand, to find a set of stairs to sit and eat. Charlie settled in, letting her legs stretch out in front of her, her back pressed against the railing on the stairs. She crossed her legs at the ankle and stared at Castiel, while he avoided her eyes. “So, am I going to have to beg you for the details?”

Castiel sighed a little too dramatically, sitting down by her feet. He stared at his lap, and the poorly distributed ketchup on his hot dog. “I guess not.”

“Out with it before I explode!” Charlie was about to jump out of her shoes, her feet wiggling in anticipation. 

“Okay, okay!” Castiel rubbed his face. “The night we all went to dinner? When I left to go to the bathroom, I went outside to smoke… he came outside and we kissed.” 

“Oh my god! I knew it! So he _ is _gay.” She wrapped her arms around Castiel in a bear hug, almost spilling her hotdog toppings on his coat. 

“Enough with the affection,” he complained, unable to hide his smile. Charlie was his weakness, there was no pretending otherwise. “He’s bisexual, I think.” 

“Sorry.” She pulled back and smoothed her shirt before taking a big bite of hotdog. “So, then what happened?” She asked with a full mouth. 

“Then I avoided him, because I don’t have the fucking time for a relationship. Like I’ve been saying.” His back straightened at the faint, chilling memory of his nightmare. 

“But?”

“But he sought me out, and he made me cheese fries. We danced to Steppenwolf on Vinyl.” He looked off into the distance, and ran his tongue along his bottom lip, a new memory warming his skin. “He made sure I went to sleep after I found out about the second victim, and I did. I slept for the first time in a long time.” 

“Without nightmares? Oh my _ god_, Cas!” She punched him again with a big grin. Her eyes were glistening beneath her eyelashes. “He’s _ the _ guy, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know about that,” Castiel said dismissively. He couldn’t ruin it all by telling her about his nightmares, about how suffocating they had been, about how not even the green eyed journalist who said all the right things and wore the night sky in freckles on his cheeks wasn’t enough to completely quiet his demons. 

Charlie reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his, causing him to look at her. “Either way, I’m happy for you. I know I joke a lot, but you’re my best friend. I just want you to be happy.”

“I know,” he said as he squeezed her hand in response, pulling it up and placing a kiss on her middle knuckle. “I’ll be happy when I catch this son of a bitch, promise.” 

She grinned widely in response, a red curl falling into her eye. “Then let's brainstorm, I’m not much of a detective, but I do the Times Sunday crossword in ink.” 

_ An hour later _

“Alright, what did you surmise about this new case while I was away, Rookie?” Castiel asked Sam when he returned from lunch. 

“We’ve got a female victim, Naomi, who was bludgeoned with a typewriter. Her head was completely smashed in. Seems her husband is a famous writer. Some guy who goes by the pen name Metatron.”

“Did you question him?”

“No one can get ahold of him. He’s fled. Looks like a milk run to me,” Sam said, showing Castiel the case file. 

He flipped through the case, and by the general look of it, the kid hit the nail on the head. “He does look pretty suspicious. I’ll give you that. Put out an APB.” 

“Already done.” 

“Good job, Winchester. You can take point on this one.” He nodded, just a little proud of his protege. He’d already come leaps and bounds since their first case. 

“Cas, this came to you from the courthouse!” Charlie said, walking to his desk with a stack of papers. 

“Finally!” He said, pulling them from her hands. Something was finally going right! He sat down at his desk, laying the pages out. He scanned the names on the papers, looking for anything that stood out to him. Former criminals, anything that fit the M.O., or religious figures. He flipped the page, running his finger along the names. They were in alphabetical order by last name. He tried to make note of anyone worth questioning, which could be the whole list. Perhaps Azazel’s daughter finally did the deed? Although, it wouldn’t make sense in conjunction to the other case. No one seemed to fit the profile in his head. 

Religious. Connected to him. Involved with both vics. Likely male due to the size of the previous vics. 

His hands tightened on the page, his palms sweating. The second to last name on his list made his blood run cold. “Rookie, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure thing, Novak. What’s up?”

His eyes flickered up to Sam’s, as he stood up from his chair. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were in the courthouse during Azazel’s trial.” 

“Oh.” Sam’s eyes widened. “Well, I didn’t really think it was relevant.” 

Castiel swallowed hard. “You didn’t think it was relevant, when I asked for the name of _ everyone _ that was in the courthouse that day, to tell me that you were there?” 

“I...I didn’t... what exactly are you asking me, Detective?”

“Maybe we should go into the interrogation room and talk.” 

Sam backed up a bit, his eyebrows high on his forehead, his mouth open in surprise. “You’re joking, right?”

“Do I look like a man that jokes, Winchester? Now are you going to cooperate, or do I need to cuff you?” He almost growled, his shoulders pulling back in defense. Questions swirled in his brain, and he felt like he was chasing them. He was in the midst of a windstorm, standing directly in the eye, looking at the cause. 

“No, uh, of course not.” He put his hands up in surrender. “I’ll answer whatever you want, Cas,” Sam said softly. “What do you want to know?

  



	4. Judges

** **

**Part Four - Judges**

_ “The angel of the LORD appeared unto him, and said unto him, The LORD is with thee, _ _ thou mighty man of valour.” Judges 6:12 _

* * *

* * *

Sam Winchester’s heart was pounding. He’d never sat on the opposite side of the table in the interrogation room. He could see his own reflection in the two-way mirror. His palms were sweaty, and he absentmindedly twisted his crucifix between his fingers.

“You look nervous, Winchester,” Detective Novak said, as he entered the interrogation room.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Sam glanced up at his partner. Since he was so tall, he didn’t often look up at people, but he was seeing Castiel in a whole new light. He looked fierce, strong. Sam could see how the detective could put fear in the heart of a criminal, because Novak was definitely putting fear in his.

“I suppose if I were guilty, I would be too.”

“I’m not guilty, Cas.”

“You’re not? I should just take your word for it?” He gripped the back of his chair, staring sharp blue daggers down at Sam.

“Yes.” Sam frowned. “Because I’m your partner.”

“You have a bleeding heart. Why shouldn’t I think that you’re capable of taking the law into your own hands?”

“You’re my mentor, Novak,” he said through gritted teeth. His hands were flat on the table top. “You should know exactly what I’m capable of. You and I run by the same code.”

“Tell me, Winchester. Do you own a Bible?”

He blinked a few times. “Yes.”

“If I got a warrant to search your apartment, and got your bible, would I find pages missing?”

“Pages? You seriously think I could...”

“This will go so much easier for you if you cooperate.”

Sam pressed his lips together before uttering, “No. There would be no pages missing.”

“How would you describe your religious beliefs?”

“What do you mean, Cas?”

“It’s Detective Novak,” Castiel said through clenched teeth. “Are you a casual church goer? Have you read the Bible? Attend studies?”

“When would I have time to do all of that?” Sam laughed, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m a rookie in Homicide with a hardass for a partner. When would I possibly have time to read the entire Bible?”

“You are avoiding the question.” 

Sam sighed, clasping his hands together. “It’s just faith, man. I’m just running on faith. Nothing more than that.” 

Castiel grunted at that before pulling out a photograph of the burnt wings in the grass from the previous crime scenes. He laid it down in front of his partner. “What is the deal with the angels? The burn marks around the victims.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Why did you lie about being in the courtroom during Azazel’s trial?” Castiel slammed his hands down, leaning into Sam, trying to intimidate him.

“I didn’t.”

“You withheld information from a murder investigation.”

Sam shook his head. “Fuck, no I didn’t! I didn’t think it was a secret! I didn’t think it was important… I didn’t think!”

“You didn’t think you’d get caught,” Castiel hissed.

“I can’t believe this. You’re my partner, Cas. You’re supposed to have my back.”

“Yes. I am your partner, Winchester.” Castiel turned away from Sam. He looked at them both in the mirror, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Sam stared at the crisscross of his suspenders on his back. “So it isn’t so farfetched to believe you would want to impress me by killing the criminals that I couldn’t put away. That we couldn’t.”

Sam stood up, reached across the table, and touched Castiel’s shoulder, causing the detective to wince. “I didn’t do this. It isn’t up to us to punish evil. It’s up to the law. Yeah, the law fails us sometimes… but we do all that we can do.”

“You’re just saying what I want to hear.”

“No. I’m not. Plus,” Sam shifted awkwardly before continuing, “If it were me, I wouldn’t have been so sloppy. I was top of my class at the academy. I know you like calling me Rookie, but I’m good, Cas. I wouldn’t make a mistake like that.”

“Killers like to taunt the police.”

“I am the police.”

There was a loud noise in the precinct, shouting.

“That’s the worst part,” Castiel said before opening the door and pushing out into the office.

“Sir, you need to calm down.”

“I will not fucking calm down! I want to see Detective Novak!”

“It’s okay,” Castiel told the officer that was trying to calm down Dean. “I’ve got this.”

“When were you going to call me?” Dean asked angrily, his eyebrows drawn tightly together.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Don’t _hello Dean_ me.”

The detective raised an eyebrow. “How would you prefer that I greet you?”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t arrest my fucking brother.”

“Lower your voice, Dean. There’s no need to make a scene.” He touched Dean's hand. “I just need to question him.”

“You think he’s a killer,” Dean said through gritted teeth.

“Come with me.” Cas grabbed his hand and pulled him behind the glass of the interrogation room. They could see Sam sitting with his cup of coffee. He was leaned over the table, looking concerned, but he wasn’t chained. “He isn’t under arrest. I’m just questioning him.”

“Why are you questioning him?”

“Because he was in the courtroom during Azazel’s trial. He lied. He’s religious. He fits the M.O.”

“He isn’t capable of murder.”

“Everyone wants to believe that...”

“It’s the truth,” Dean snapped.

“I know you’re angry, Dean.”

“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.”

“But I wouldn’t be a good detective if I didn’t follow a lead when it was presented to me.” Castiel wasn’t sure why he was sugar coating it for Dean. It looked bad. “Do you know where your brother was at the times of the murders?”

“Probably working a case with you, you ignorant fuck.” Dean’s fingers twitched at his side. He gave Castiel this look which leveled out somewhere between _ I want to fucking kill you, _ and _ I want to fuck you. _His lips were parted, letting out ragged breaths, and his face was flushed. It was the same look he’d had right after he’d been kissed. 

“He wasn’t with me. Do you think if he was with me that I would be questioning him? I am good at my job, Dean,” Castiel said slowly, carefully trying to explain. Carefully trying not to stare at his full lips. 

Dean turned and slammed his fist into the glass. He stared through it at his brother, his muscles in his back tight. It was evident even through his thick flannel. “Then fucking do the thing. Prove he’s innocent, because _ he is_.”

“I hope you’re right,” Castiel said, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked at Dean, his eyes drilling into the man’s back. He wanted to see his face, to determine exactly how bad things were between them. “I’m sorry for not calling you,” he said lowly, as he approached Dean. “It wasn’t my place.”

“As a guy who slept next to me and made out with me in the kitchen, I kind of think it’s your place.” He turned to face Castiel.

“I’m the head detective of this case. I have to be careful what information I share, and who I share it with.”

“You’re sharing shit with me now, Novak,” Dean said, his gaze intense. The corners of his eyes were wet with emotion and Castiel could’ve sworn that they were sparkling. Sparkling like the fucking stars in the night sky, green and engaged like a cat’s. 

“Your eyes are really green, Dean,” Castiel whispered, staring into Dean’s eyes. He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop it. 

“Look into my pretty, pretty green eyes and tell me that my brother is a killer.” Dean let out an exasperated breath. “If you really believe he is capable of that then look me in the fuckin’ face and say it.”

“Dean…”

“Say it, Castiel!”

“I think people are capable of a lot more darkness than what we expect them to be.”

Castiel met his eyes, and Dean shook his head. “That’s for fucking sure.” He pressed his hands against Castiel’s chest and pushed him away. “I need some air. Get my brother out of there, or you won’t like what happens.”

He watched Dean go. He made a mental note to tell Charlie that the situation before him was exactly why he didn’t date. Romance was complicated. Especially in the line of work that he was in. Especially with a Winchester. He wanted to walk after Dean, but he didn’t. He wanted to call after him and pull him close. He wanted to kiss him until he was smiling, until he looked less betrayed. He wanted a lot of things. Instead, he turned back to the glass and watched Sam. He needed a plan. He needed the answers, and no matter how badly he wanted to catch the killer, he needed it to not be Sam. He needed the rookie to be clean, because if he wasn’t, then Castiel had failed again. He didn’t know if he could survive the weight of something so completely crushing.

“Hey.” Charlie poked her head into the room. “Saw Dreamy storm outside. Wanna talk about it?”

“He’s mad because of this.” Castiel gestured to the glass.

“Oh my God!” Charlie whispered, stepping into the room, shutting the door behind her. “What is Sam doing back there?”

“He was on the list, Charlie. He was in the courthouse and didn’t tell me.”

She looked taken aback, and she blinked a few languid blinks before uttering, “You think he killed those men?”

“I don’t know what else to think.”

“Are you batshit crazy, man?”

“Excuse me?” Castiel turned to look at the redhead, with a quirked eyebrow.

“He isn’t Anakin, Cas. He isn’t going to go dark side. The kid is Luke all the way.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Of course you don’t.” Charlie pinched the bridge of her nose with a disgruntled sigh. “I’m just saying, I think he is what he says he is. I don’t think you have to worry.”

“But I am worried.” Castiel placed his palm against the glass. “I don’t want to be, but I am. He looks guilty, Charlie. Am I supposed to ignore that?”

“Of course not, Cassy,” she said with a sigh. “You have to ask the tough questions.”

“It’s what’s right. If he is killing people, and I don’t stop him just because he’s my partner, then I’m just as bad as he is.”

Charlie wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Does Singer know?”

“Not yet. I didn’t want it to be a big deal.”

“But it is, isn’t it?”

“That I’m accusing a fellow detective? Yeah. It is.” His voice caught in his throat. If he was wrong he could be ruined. If he was right, everything would be ruined anyway. There was no winning this. 

“Do you have anything concrete on him?”

“No. Not really, but I wonder if I should get a search warrant.”

“You don’t think that Dean would just let you in to prove Sam’s innocence?”

“He might,” Castiel said, thoughtfully. “But he is pretty angry right now.”

“Where’d he go?”

“To get some air. I don’t imagine he will go far since Sam is locked up.”

“Do you think it’s over?”

“What’s over?”

“You and Dean.”

“That shouldn’t even be on my mind right now,” he said with a sigh, but it was on his mind. Of course it was.

“But it is, right? It has to be. He’s the guy.”

“Yeah, according to you.” Castiel ran his tongue along his bottom lip anxiously. “I don’t know if there’s even anything between us that’s worth mourning, yet. It’s too soon.”

“If you and Dean are supposed to be together, he will forgive you. No matter what you find out.” She gave him a gentle squeeze.

“I need to focus on the case. I think Winchester has sweated it out enough. I’m going to go back in there.”

“Okay,” she whispered, letting him go.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I’ll be okay,” he promised her, offering a small smile. “I’ll catch the bad guy, no matter who it is.”

“I know you will. You always do,” Charlie smiled at him softly, before going back into the precinct. 

Castiel walked toward the door, his finger clasping the handle as his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out to answer it. He didn’t recognize the number. “Detective Novak.”

“Novak, hello,” a gentle female voice said through the phone. “This is Captain Mosley with the Lawrence PD. I got your message about the Mary Winchester case. Sorry it’s taken so long for me to get back to you. I’ve been on vacation.”

“Not a problem, thank you for getting back to me.” He leaned against the wall, pressing the phone to his ear. He was eager for information about Dean’s mom. He hoped he could get some peace for his green eyed man, especially since they were currently disagreeing. 

“I haven’t thought about Mary Winchester in a long time. You said you know her boys? They were cute kids. I was the head detective on the case.” 

“Dean said that you didn’t have any leads?”

“Dean... he was the older boy, wasn’t he?” Captain Mosley asked. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

“He was only four years old, so his memory must be skewed. We did have a suspect. One.”

“Who?” Castiel asked, he was leaning on every word. “He didn’t know?”

“I told him when he came back around some time back. He wasn’t happy with the answer I gave him. Neither of those boys were,” she sighed. “Hurt my heart, having to tell those boys.”

“Tell them what?”

“We suspected their Daddy, John Winchester.”

His stomach jumped right into his throat. Their father? “What was the evidence against him?”

“The fire started on a desk in the bedroom. It was a pile of papers. Forensics identified them as court documents. Mary was leaving him. He was a mean old bastard, and witnesses reported many domestic disputes between them. The lighter left on the desk was one of his that he used for smoking.” 

“But there wasn’t a conviction?”

“It was all circumstantial. There wasn’t anything concrete. He insisted that he didn’t know about the divorce. They were in couples counseling and, according to John, doing better.”

_ Shit_. “So, nothing stuck,” Castiel sighed. Part of him was happy that he wasn’t the only one that had cold cases. “Do you think that he did it?” 

“Personally?” Captain Mosley asked slowly. “I do. He took those boys and ran. He was ex military, and he went off the grid. That didn’t sit well with me. Still doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t look good,” he agreed. “But he’s dead now. Cancer, right?”

“He was dying of cancer, and then an intern ordered the wrong dosage of morphine and it killed the poor bastard.”

“That’s terrible.” 

“I wish we could’ve gotten solid answers for those poor boys,” Mosley said with a sigh. “They were sure sweet. Hate seeing kids losing their mother.” 

“It is difficult,” he agreed, staring at his feet. 

“Can I ask you why you were asking about Mary?” 

“I work with her son.” 

He could hear Captain Mosley hum over the phone line. “And you’re in love with him? The older boy?”

“What?” Castiel felt his stomach leap into his throat. How did she come to that conclusion? 

“I could hear it in your voice when you talked about him. He is a detective?” 

“No… the younger one, Sam, is the detective. Dean is a journalist.” He felt heat dance along his cheeks. 

“You don’t have to hide from your feelings, Detective Novak,” she said gently. “It’s okay to love someone that’s alive.” 

“Okay,” he said, because he was so thrown off balance that it was all he could say. 

“Was there anything else I can help you with, Detective?”

“I don’t think so, Captain. Thank you for getting back to me.”

“Of course. Detective Novak, it was a pleasure speaking with you.” 

“And you,” Castiel agreed, hanging up the phone. He stared back at his partner through the glass. Poor kid, it was no wonder he could end up a little fucked up with all he’d been through.

Castiel sighed and opened the door, meeting Sam’s eyes as he sat up straighter. “Thought you forgot about me, Novak.”

“No such luck, Rookie.”

Sam offered a small smile. “You believe me yet, Cas?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“No one else fits the profile?”

“Not as good as you do.”

“Was that Dean I heard shouting?” Sam asked, staring at his hands.

“It was.”

“He didn’t sound happy.”

“He isn’t.” Castiel offered a smile, it was almost genuine.

“What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing.” He opened the case file.

“I know what’s in that file, Cas, and so do you. What’s going on with you and my brother?”

“He is your brother. There’s nothing.” Castiel sat on the edge of the table. “I’m not on trial here.”

“No, that’s me, right? I’m on trial.”

“You aren’t yet,” Castiel said sharply. He didn’t bother looking down at the pages, he already knew what they said. He had looked at them a dozen times. “Where were you the night that Fergus Crowley was killed?”

“At home. I told you that.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

“I was alone.”

“You realize how suspicious that is, right?”

“You live alone, Castiel. Where were you?” Sam asked, his eyebrows drawn together.

“I’m the one asking the questions here, Winchester.”

“I just want to know if you see how ridiculous this is? You’re accusing me when you have just as much riding against you as I do. I didn’t do this.”

“Then I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if we searched your apartment.”

“Do it,” Sam said, standing up. He dug his keys out of his pocket. “Go. Search. You won’t find anything.”

Castiel caught the keys when Sam tossed them, and his eyes met the Rookie’s, and he just couldn’t lie to him. Everything spilled out like he was a glass of water in the hands of a child. “We went out.”

“What?”

“Your brother and I.”

“Like a date?”

“Something like that.”

“Hm. I thought he liked you,” Sam said softly.

“I don’t want to do this.”

“Date my brother?”

“Accuse you. I want to be wrong,” Castiel admitted. 

“You are wrong. I’m not asking for a lawyer. I’m willingly giving you my keys. I didn’t do it.”

The door opened behind Castiel, revealing Captain Singer. His face was red under his graying beard and his eyes were narrowed. “You idgits about done in here?”

“Captain.” Castiel stood up. “We’re just…”

“I don’t really care what you’re doin’,” the Captain said dismissively. “There’s been another murder. That novelist case I gave you? He was just found, and it’s fresh, too.”

“Fresh?” Sam asked, standing up.

“The wings on this chicken are still burning.”

The two detectives exchanged a look.

“Same M.O. as the others?”

“Looks like The Angel Killer strikes again,” Captain Singer said, stiffly. “Now get your asses out there and check out the scene. Maybe we can catch the motherfucker, since it’s all so fresh.” He finished the sentence and pushed back out into the precinct. Castiel turned to Sam with his mouth hanging open.

“Believe me now, partner?”

“Sam I’m…” Cas offered the keys back to his partner.

“Keep ‘em. Then you can surprise Dean.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Castiel rolled his eyes, tossing the keys back anyway. Sam caught them with ease. 

They stepped out of the interrogation room to find Dean sitting in a chair, with his face in his hands. “Heard you’re hot for the Detective,” Sam said when he saw his brother, with his biggest shit eating grin plastered on his face .

Dean hopped up immediately at the sound of Sam’s words. “Sammy! You out of the slammer?”

“Turns out somebody else is wasting people. Who knew?”

“I did,” Dean said, throwing his arm over Sam’s shoulder. “Glad it ain't you, kid.”

“Did you really go on a date with Novak?”

“Who told you that?”

“He did.”

Dean glanced at Castiel as he shrugged into his coat and holstered his gun on his hip. “Huh. He did?”

“Are you mad at him for accusing me?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Not really. I’d do the same thing,” Sam said, looking down at his brother. “Knowing him, I’m probably not even cleared yet.”

“Want me to flirt with him and get you out of it?”

“That’s gross, dude.”

“That isn’t a no.”

“Rookie, are you done? We have a murder to investigate,” Castiel said, with feigned annoyance. His eyes flickered to Dean’s and lingered there for a second too long. 

“Yup,” Sam said, wiggling out from underneath his brother’s arm. He grabbed his own coat and gun from his desk. “I’m ready to go.”

“I’ll drive.”

“So, should I just meet you guys there?” Dean asked, his lips forming an ornery, tight lipped smile.

“I’ll see you at home,” Sam said with an eye roll.

The pair got into Castiel’s car and drove to the scene.

“You’re gonna keep an eye on me, aren’t you?” Sam asked his partner.

“I have to.”

“I understand.”

“Do you think it’s weird? Dean and I, I mean.”

“No,” Sam said with a smile. “It’ll be nice to see him happy. It’ll be nice to see you happy, too, Novak.”

“That’s yet to be determined.”

“Sure.”

The Captain was right, the wings were burning still, even as they pulled up to the scene. 

“Christ,” Castiel said as he squinted at the flames.

“I’ll say.”

They both got out of the car, and Sam adjusted his sunglasses on his nose. They were in the parking lot of the apartment building that Metatron had lived in. That his wife had been killed in. He was laid out on his back, with a stab wound in his chest like all the others. The typical burn marks in the shape of wings jutting out from his back in either direction were still burning brightly. “We were waiting to put out the fire until you could see it,” Eileen said, standing up from her squatted position near the body.

“It smells like gas, that’s new,” Sam commented.

“Yeah, it is.” Castiel frowned. “They’ve never been still burning before, what do you make of that?” He asked Eileen.

_ Don’t know_, she signed, with a shrug.

“Right,” Castiel said with a sigh. “Me neither.”

“Maybe it was rushed,” Sam said with a frown. “This is a public place. Someone could have seen.”

“Whoever it is has skills,” Castiel said, crouching next to the body. “We hadn’t been able to locate Metatron, but the killer could. He didn’t even wait to see if we could put him away this time.”

“He’s escalating,” Sam agreed.

“Sam,” Eileen said, waiting for him to turn. His eyes flickered to hers and she gently moved the dead man’s chin to expose his neck. “There’s something else.” She pointed to a small red mark on the man's neck. He was older and not exactly well taken care of, so the untrained eye wouldn't have noticed the small pinprick.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up with an obvious question mark. 

“I think he was drugged,” she explained, her fist tapping the inside of her elbow to sign, _ drug_. 

“None of the other ones had been drugged?” Sam questioned. 

Eileen shook her head. “We will test the blood at the lab.” 

He nodded to her. “Let me know what you figure out?”

She offered him a tired, but encouraging smile and went back to her samples. 

The heat from the fire caused a bead of sweat to pool on Castiel’s upper lip. He didn’t want to find another letter. Another taunt, but it also could be the key to finding the answer to the case. He wasn’t convinced that it was Sam anymore, although the kid could have a partner, though that seemed unlikely from the M.O. 

“Rookie,” Castiel called to Sam, his throat dry as he pulled out a crime scene glove and slid it onto his hand before he felt around Metatron’s tweed sport coat. The page was in the same place it had been in on the other victims. He unfolded the page carefully before reading the circled portion out loud. “You shall have no other gods before me. First Corinthians 10:20.”

“Did anyone know you were questioning me?” Sam asked quickly. “Anyone?”

“He’s watching us.”

“He’s jealous.” Sam agreed, looking around. “Shit.”

“There’s more,” Castiel said tightly as he flipped over the page to reveal another letter addressed to him.

_ Dear Detective Novak, _

_ The Bible says that our God is a jealous one, and so am I. It is insulting that you think that child would be able to do this. He is not doing God’s work. I am. I am a conduit for God, Detective, and for you. You could not find the writer, but I could. I took care of him for you. _

_ Perhaps it is a race now to see who can solve the cases first. You, behind your yellow tape, or me yards in front of it. Do you understand yet, Detective? I am doing this for God and for you. Perhaps God will not forgive me for the sin of murder, regardless of the intention, but perhaps I will be forgiven by you. “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” 1 Peter 4:8. So it is the word of God. _

_ Perhaps if you can forgive me, then I may enter heaven. Do you believe in heaven, Detective? Not on the outside, necessarily, but in your heart of hearts? Do you know that God was here? Because I see him every day. In a smile. In the laughter after a really good joke. In the eyes of this man when he melted away. He made peace with God, and so have I. What about you, Detective? Where will you find your peace? _

_ Raguel _

Castiel felt like he was going to be sick again. He handed the letter to Sam and walked away from the scene. He needed air. A cigarette, maybe. He felt in his pocket for the box, and slid out the last cigarette, lighting it between his teeth. His mouth and throat burned from the smoke, but he inhaled it gratefully. After the letter, he didn’t think it was Sam anymore. It didn’t read like something the Rookie could write. It wasn’t his voice. Castiel’s gut wasn’t in it anymore, and if he knew anything in the world, it was that he needed to trust his goddamn gut.

Killers taunted lead detectives all the time. It wasn’t new, but somehow the letters felt different. They felt too damn specific. He turned back and looked at the body. Sure, they thought it was a slam dunk, but was it? They didn’t know that the man was guilty, not for certain. They hadn’t even arrested Metatron yet. He could have been innocent. He probably was.

Castiel stomped out the burning embers from his cigarette and before he could stop himself, he took out his phone and dialed Dean.

“Detective, is that you?”

“Are you angry with me?” The line was quiet. “Dean?”

“The kid forgave you, so no, I guess I’m not.”

“Good. That’s… good.” His stomach twisted and turned, the sky toppling over itself. It felt like being drunk. It felt like he was losing it. 

“Cas, are you okay?”

“No, Dean. I don’t think I am.” Castiel squatted down, and put his head between his legs to keep himself from throwing up.

“Where are you? Are you still at the scene?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll come get you.”

“Dean you don’t have to I…”

“I know. I’ll be there in twenty, Cas. I’ve got you.” _ Click_.

Sam came to find Castiel after a few minutes. The tall, lanky kid had his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked down at Castiel through a too-long strand of hair. “Hey, you good?”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Castiel admitted, his voice hoarse from the bile rising in it.

“Hey, sit down,” Sam said, putting his hand on his shoulder. He lowered Cas to a seated position on the parking bumper. He didn’t remove his hand until he was sure that his partner would be okay. 

“Not to be weird.” Castiel laughed dryly. “But Dean is coming here.”

“Why?”

“He thinks he’s picking me up.”

“Thinks?”

He sighed. “He is coming to pick me up.”

“Right. He does that. He likes to take care of people.”

Castiel put his face in his hands. “This is happening because of me.”

“It isn’t. You really can’t believe that. This guy is a psycho. There’s nothing else to it.”

“Sort of seems like that there is a lot to it.”

“It’s a puzzle,” Sam agreed. “Maybe you should get some rest. I was on the phone with the Captain a bit ago. He thinks we should issue a statement - well, that you should.”

“Me?”

“You’re the head detective.”

“Right.”

“He’s officially a serial killer, Cas. Three victims and he’s escalating.”

“I know.” He sighed. “It’s more pertinent than ever that we catch him.” His eyes shifted up as he heard a car door shut.

Dean was jogging away from his Impala, toward the two Detectives that were sitting on a chipping, yellow parking bumper side by side. “Hey. Got here as fast as I could.”

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Hey, Detective,” Dean said gently, his eyes moving from his brother to Castiel. 

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Sam said, standing up. He brushed the paint chips off the back of his pants. 

“Just take my squad car back, okay?” Castiel tossed Sam his car keys.

“Sure thing.” Sam caught them in the air effortlessly. “I’ll see you later.” He nodded to Dean before jogging to the car.

Dean lowered himself next to Castiel. “Want to talk about it?”

“There was another vic. Another letter written to me.”

“Shit.”

“Yes. Shit, indeed,” Castiel uttered, humorlessly. His eyes were focused down onto the small, broken pieces of gravel on the ground, scuffs on his shoes. “He was talking about forgiveness. How, if he got my forgiveness, then maybe he could be absolved for his sins. I don’t know how that makes sense.”

“Maybe he thinks that he’s doin’ right by you.”

“He isn’t.” Castiel sighed, and Dean wrapped an arm around him in comfort. He rested his head against Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that I accused Sam. I don’t think it’s him… this seems different.”

“Seems like the guy’s in love with you.”

“What?” Castiel sat up a little straighter and turned to look at Dean. His eyes were wide, and his mouth ajar in complete horror. He could feel the world start to tip off its axis again, as Dean cut him off. 

“He’ll sure be disappointed when he finds out that you have a boyfriend.” Dean grinned widely, meeting Castiel’s eyes.

He ran his tongue over his dry bottom lip, trying to process what Dean was saying to him. “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah, why not?”

The world stabilized. It stopped spinning. His feet were settled on the ground, he could feel the sharp edges of the parking bumper digging into his thighs and ass, and everything made sense. Dean. _ The guy_. His knight in shining whatever. Castiel couldn’t help the smile that was tugging on his lips. Dean Winchester’s boyfriend. What a fucking concept. It was unreal. It was ridiculous. It was right. “That’s what you want?”

“Would you rather date the killer?” He teased back, his green eyes brightening with a glint of fire from the crime scene. 

“We did agree that I have a thing for bad boys.” Castiel’s cheeks heated up at the words that were coming out of his mouth. He felt like a teenage girl. 

Dean gasped playfully. “I’ll show you bad, Castiel Novak.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I do.” He leaned in and kissed Castiel right there in front of everyone, at a crime scene like nothing else mattered in the world. Maybe it didn’t. He could admit that it felt like everything slowed down when Dean kissed him, like everything was warm. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing, falling in love. Maybe feelings didn’t have to be the fucking end of things. Maybe, just maybe, being around all the death made Castiel forget how good it can feel to be alive. 

“We never got to finish those cheese fries,” Castiel said carefully, shifting his weight on the bumper, his thigh brushing Dean’s.

“You askin’ me back to your place, Detective?”

He shrugged. “Seemed like the boyfriend thing to do.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“So do I.”

“Alright, it’s a date.” Dean grinned.

“I suppose it is.”

Dean stood up and offered a hand to Castiel, pulling him up to a standing position. “We done here?”

“Yes, we’re done.”

The two laced fingers and walked to the car, away from the crime scene, and away from the fire that was finally being extinguished in puffs of gray smoke.

Dean drove them back to Castiel’s apartment. One of his hands was on the wheel, the other on the back of Castiel’s neck. He squeezed gently, pushing into pressure points, rubbing out knots that had taken up residence in Cas’ muscles long before he was ever a police officer. The music was low against the rumble of the black Chevy Impala’s engine, so the lyrics didn't register in Cas’ mind. It was a white noise track, the sound of blood rushing through his ears and into his cheeks. He let out a low groan when Dean’s fingers dug into just the right spot, sending his chin tilting up and his mouth hanging open. 

“Let it out, Detective,” Dean hummed darkly, his mouth twisting in a smirk that was almost smug. 

Castiel wanted to be annoyed, he wanted to snap at Dean for being a brat, but all he could think about was the fingers on his neck. They dug into the knots, rubbing small, tight circles, and then pushed in deep, long, and careful. The ache melted away, tingling through him like a current. Those fingers. Castiel swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. What else can he do with those? 

Cas opened one eye to catch a glimpse of him. Dean was looking out the window, the fingers of his left hand tapping the steering wheel to whatever song was playing in the background. His head bobbed slightly to the same beat. He was focused and relaxed in a way that Castiel couldn’t fathom. He could feel Deans fingers shift down from his neck to his shoulder, still rubbing in gentle circles. Even with fabric there as a barrier between their skin, Dean’s touch left Castiel’s skin tingling, goosebumps perking up along the length of his arm. 

“Cold, Detective?” Dean's voice was a low rumble, like thunder in the distance. His eyes were fixed ahead, but somehow Cas felt like Dean was watching him. Like his eyes were examining every piece of him. 

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice betraying him with an almost whine. There was a pit growing in Castiel, his stomach churned and pushed out the previous nerves from the case, to make room for him. Cas’ eyes flickered back to Dean as his bicep flexed and released under his flannel shirt from squeezing Castiel’s shoulder. The corner of his mouth was pulled into a smirk, like he was proud of himself. 

“Do I got somethin’ on my face?”

_ No, but you will_, Castiel thought, suddenly a bit smug as well. “Yes,” he said instead, reaching across his body to brush his thumb against Dean's bottom lip. His breath changed against the pad of Castiel’s finger. He sucked in air, then let out a ragged, trembling breath as Cas pulled away. “I got it.”

“Thanks,” Dean almost squeaked, his hand gripping Cas’ upper arm now. 

He turned his gaze out the window to his right to hide his burning cheeks. Dean was put together, confident, sexy. He didn’t seem the type to be affected by such a simple touch, but the tapping on the steering wheel had stopped and was replaced by a tight, white-knuckle grip. There was something deeply sexy about watching Dean wind up, like Castiel was turning a dial and working Dean up until he popped. He’d let it feel like a dark desire - a fantasy - for so long that it felt displaced in his mind. It was unrealistic. And yet, when Dean ran his fingers down Cas’ arm, capturing their fingers together in a tight clasp, Cas felt that perhaps it wasn’t so unrealistic after all.

Castiel sucked in his breath as Dean pulled their joined hands into his lap. He was sure that his pulse was moments from bursting, and Dean had to feel it under the pressure of his thumb as he rubbed small circles on Cas’ skin. His eyes flicked up at Dean for a second, a stolen glance. A glance that Dean stole right back. As Castiel’s eyes scanned over to his left, they caught Dean’s looking right back at them. His pupils were wide and his lips parted, letting out that same ragged breath as when Castiel had first touched him. He looked flushed and wanting. 

They were less than a block from his apartment, but it could easily take another half hour to find parking. He couldn’t wait that long and although having Dean inside of the car was an entirely different fantasy, that wasn’t the one that he needed at that moment. “Drive,” Castiel demanded, his voice low and rough. Dean just nodded and let off the breaks, moving forward through traffic. He craned his neck to change lanes, sending another chill down Castiel’s spine as he counted the freckles along the length of Dean’s neck. “Park up here,” he instructed. 

“It’s a no parking zone,” Dean complained quietly. “Can’t.” 

Castiel’s eyes locked on Dean’s. He didn’t give a damn. “If you get a ticket I’ll take care of it. Park, Dean.”

The adam's apple in his throat bobbed as Dean visibly swallowed, his knuckles gripping the wheel tighter. “Okay, but I need my hand.”

They untangled their fingers, but Castiel left his hand resting on Dean’s thigh. Dean stuck his tongue between his teeth, just barely, as he turned the wheel to complete a difficult parallel park. Cas’ fingers danced along a worn spot on Dean’s jeans, feeling the rough denim scratch against the pad of his fingers. 

Dean grunted in response. “Gonna make me crash.”

They slid into a spot right in front of the stoop of the apartment, and Cas opened up the passenger side door and got out. Dean met him at the stoop, and Cas’ spine immediately straightened as he felt Dean’s fingers curl around his suspenders on his lower back. He may have had a hand up in the car, but now that Dean’s hands were free, he was afraid that the tables had turned. They climbed the stairs, Dean tugging on the suspenders like a lifeline between them. 

They reached the doorway, and Cas unlocked the deadbolt with trembling fingers. It wasn’t a breath past when the door clicked shut that Dean’s hands were on him. Castiel groaned, his head dipping back as a pair of hands pressed into his chest, sending his back into the door. Dean’s lips were on his, hot and urgent. “You’re doin’ things to me, Detective,” he groaned against the kiss, before pressing their bodies together completely. Castiel couldn’t speak, there were no words left in his mind that could reach his mouth, so he just opened his lips to allow their tongues to brush, and when they did Castiel felt that he might melt right there. 

Cas pressed his leg against the inside of Dean’s, eliciting a low growl, and a nip at his lower lip. He brought his hands up to touch Dean’s cheek to run his fingers against the new, late-day scruff that was growing there, but Dean wasn’t having that. His hand caught Cas’ and pinned it next to his head. Castiel sucked in his breath and felt his cheeks heat up to a dangerous level of red, despite the fact that he should have had no blood left in his body to travel anywhere other than his dick, which may have been the only thing that wanted Dean more than he did. 

He heard Dean exhale sharply through his nose in an almost laugh at his reaction to being pinned. Thick fingers ran up Cas’ palm, linking them together as Dean peppered soft kisses on his neck. It was unbelievably tender, soft, slow, like maybe it all wasn’t about fucking or getting answers, maybe it wasn’t about that at all. Sometimes when things look like a duck, and quack like a duck, they’re just a duck, after all. 

Dean’s free hand was playing with the hem of Cas’ shirt. He could feel the tickle of fabric and fingers along the sensitive spot right below his belly button. It was gentle, almost unsure, and so Castiel whispered, “Dean?”

“Huh? Yeah?” He pulled back from the spot he was nuzzling against Cas’ neck, and looked at him from under hooded eyes. 

And god they were so green, his lips were swollen, and his breath coming out shaking and wrecked. Cas’ chest squeezed at the sight of him, his heart pounding, threatening to bust out of his chest like in some damn cartoon. Dean was beautiful. It always felt like a ridiculous concept, to describe a man as beautiful, but fuck, there he was. Dean was beautiful and it scared the shit out of him. He was staring at Dean, and he didn’t think he would ever feel that way about anyone again, like he may never see someone worth looking at again, like if he looked away that Dean would melt away. He wanted to take a picture, a painting, a fucking statue or something just to capture every freckle against flushed skin, pink open lips, and dazed, green eyes almost glowing like a cat’s in the poor lighting from his apartment. Dean’s forehead pressed against Cas’, the heat of their skin mingling, causing a deep sigh to escape Cas’ open lips. “Dean,” he murmered unintentionally, because fuck, what else was there for him to say? 

He caught a smile on Dean’s lips before they pressed back against Castiel’s, slower this time, precise. Fingers slid behind Castiel’s back, pressing into the skin under his untucked button-up. Just like he did when they were dancing, Dean guided Cas’ body with his fingers and the palm of his hand. They turned, slowly, Castiel running his free hand through Dean’s hair, down his neck, cupping his shoulder blade. Dean wasn’t built, he didn’t look like he spent his off time at the gym, but he was strong. Under a soft cushion, he had strength, biceps with weight, and muscles in his core that Castiel believed might be able to hold him up, and that thought sent a new wave of chills down his spine. 

Cas moved backwards by the push of Dean’s chest against his own, their lips never disconnecting as they moved. He deepened the kiss, running his tongue along Dean’s bottom lip, his chin starting to sting from the friction and the stubble. Castiel felt an emptiness as Dean’s fingers left his own, the skin between his fingers sweaty and hollow, but Dean seemed to have something else in mind. Cas felt a tug on his shirt as Dean blindly fumbled with the buttons down the middle of his shirt, using only his free hand. 

Cas followed his lead, by moving his own hands to shrug out of his suspenders. Once his arms were free, he hooked his fingers in Dean’s belt loops, pulling his hips to Castiel’s. He needed Dean closer, and the feeling of Dean’s arousal pressing into his own was enough to make his soul leave his body. He let out a low whine into the kiss, sucking Dean’s tongue into his mouth. Cas was drunk on him, drowning in the taste of his tongue and the tickle of his fingers, and the heat from below his belt, pressing and grinding their bodies together as they walked. 

Dean obviously wasn’t watching where he was going, because the back of Castiel’s legs hit something solid, sending him falling backwards onto the couch. The only saving grace was that his fingers were still in Dean’s belt loops, so they were now pressed flush, even the tips of their noses bumping and brushing together. Castiel saw Dean’s eyes widen, saw his hand move behind Cas’ head to try to hold himself up, before he lets the bubbling laughter he was holding back release from his lips. The corners of his mouth curled up into a wide, open grin and he laughed, squinting, causing Dean’s image to blur, and he had to hold his chest, because fuck that was funny. Dean’s hair stuck up on one side from Cas running his fingers through it without a care. He looked adorable. 

“You look good like this,” Dean said with a gentle smile, brushing a stray hair away from Cas’ forehead. 

“Like what?” He asked, his breathing finally calming down. He let out another shaking giggle before finally relaxing back to his normal state of rest.

“Happy.”

“You’re so annoying,” Castiel lied, knowing full well that his eyes gave him away. 

“You love it.” 

He did. He hated to admit it, but he did. He loved everything about Dean. He loved the way his breath bubbled when he laughed, the way his eyes wrinkled around the corners when he smiled really widely, the way his bottom lip poked out when he didn’t get his way. Dean was a smartass, but he came running when Castiel was upset. He made cheese fries, and he slow danced to Steppenwolf. He made Castiel’s heart race when he said his name,_ Cas_, when he caught his green eyes staring, and when he felt his lips brushing against his own.

“Do not,” he grouched, but when he met Dean’s eyes he melted into the couch.

_ It’s okay to love someone that’s alive. _

“You make me happy,” Cas admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, even though normally he wouldn’t, even though it hurt to think about what it meant, even though he knew that it would let those feelings blossom and grow within him. For once, he didn’t care. “Kiss me, Dean.”

And he did. 

Dean left fluttering kisses on his lips, the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck, all the while his fingers worked the last of Cas’ buttons. His shirt opened, and Dean let out a breath that sounded a lot like “fuck”, which made Castiel’s pulse pick up speed. He let his eyes flutter shut as Dean’s fingers traced patterns along his chest and down his stomach, like a child writing his name in the sand. He remembered his breathing as Dean’s lips followed the same pattern as his fingers, kissing and tasting his skin. It lit a fire within Castiel, his stomach flipping, and his fingers curled into the fabric of the couch as Dean sucked on the skin below his belly button and unbuttoned his slacks. His zipper was down in one fluid motion, and although he would normally feel awkward and exposed, he felt nothing but that heat, the desire, the need to touch and be touched, so he lifted his hips to allow Dean to work his pants midway down his thighs. The muscles in his stomach flexed, and he sucked in breath like he was breaking through water after a dive, as Dean’s tongue teased at the waist of Cas’ boxers. 

Dean hummed in approval, and Castiel felt his touch hover before his fingers ever so carefully stroked Cas’ length through the fabric of his boxers. His back arched immediately, the crown of his head pressing firmly against the arm of the couch. Dean’s touch was light and feathery, not how Cas would’ve expected him to be underneath the flannel and heavy boots. It was better than he could’ve hoped. Dean’s fingers barely tickled along Cas’ cock, making his hips instinctually lift toward contact. Dean pressed his free palm against Cas’ middle, holding him in place. “Don’t move,” he instructed as he pressed a soft, wet kiss against the head of Cas’ cock through his underwear. 

Cas sucked in his breath again, letting out a quiet whine. Dean’s mouth was warm and soft, and Castiel pressed his back as firmly to the couch as he could possibly manage, his dick twitching in disobedience. He could feel Dean’s lips curve into a smile as he pressed a kiss against Cas’ hip. He wasn’t used to being teased, being tested. If he was being honest, it’d been so long, that he wasn’t used to being touched at all, desired. “I’m gonna let you out now, Detective,” Dean almost purred against his skin, his lips vibrating against the soft skin below Cas’ belly button. 

He opened his mouth to respond but a low, desperate moan was all that escaped his lips, so he just nodded instead, because what else could he say?

Dean tapped his hip, instructing him to lift them up. Cas followed his instructions, having always been a good student. Blunt nails scraped against his hips, as Dean worked his boxers down to meet his slacks at his thighs. Another shiver rolled through him as his cock finally met the air, but the cool air was quickly replaced by a hot, wet gasp. Cas’ mind immediately spun out of control, and he opened a single eye to catch Dean staring at his dick in almost awe. His lips were a breath away, and fuck, seeing Dean look at him like he was something to devour was almost enough to send Cas over the edge. He let his eyes shut again, clamped tightly, his heart racing, blood rushing in his ears. 

In the darkness behind his eyelids, he was almost seeing stars, sparkling like the night sky, as Dean pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock. The muscles in his stomach twitched, as he tried to keep himself laying flat as previously instructed, but even though his eyes were closed the image of Dean was still burned into his retinas like he’d been staring at the sun. Dean with his hooded eyes, his lips open, tongue running over his bottom lip, his tongue… _ my God_. Castiel gasped, his hands immediately shooting to Dean’s hair as he felt a lick up the vein underneath his cock. 

He massaged his fingers through Dean’s hair, just about gripping it for dear life as he felt himself disappear completely within Dean, past his lips, his tongue swirling. Careful, precise fingers worked into the mix, stroking along with the movement of his lips and tongue. Cas spent all of his time thinking, he wasn’t talkative, but his mind was always a flutter of a thousand thoughts running into each other, yet as long as Dean’s mouth was on him, he had no other thought in his mind for the first time in his life. It was just Dean. 

Dean and his smug attitude, his pink lips, freckles littering his cheekbones, his green, challenging eyes. His hands on the wheel of the Impala. His hands on Castiel. Kissing, yearning, wanting, breathing. 

Dean’s hand moved from Castiel’s stomach, giving him silent permission to move his hips again. So he thrust slowly into Dean’s mouth, fucking into him, wishing that there was a way that he could kiss him, but instead he squeezed his shoulders, pulling a deep, muffled groan from his mouth, the vibration against Cas’ skin sending waves of pleasure through him like an electric shock. He could feel himself coming undone, as if every brush of Dean’s fingers and swipe of his tongue was breaking down the carefully crafted wall he’d built around himself. 

“Dean,” he breathed on the tail end of a groan that came deep from within his chest, opening his eyes and tilting his head up to look. Dean’s only response was running his tongue over the head of Castiel’s cock again, slow and tantalizing, causing Cas’ toes to curl inside of his shoes. “Dean,” he hissed again, tugging on Dean’s hair to get him to pay attention. 

“Mm?”

“I can’t… I’m…” Castiel gasped in frustration, his hands shaking against the back of Dean’s neck. 

Dean offered a wicked smile before taking Cas in again, picking up speed, pulling out all the stops, until Cas couldn’t no longer handle it. His head fell back, his mouth open in heavy, labored breaths, his hips matching Dean’s movements. He felt himself fall over the edge, his skin tingling, toes curling, fingers digging into Dean’s skin, his body hot with ecstasy. He opened his eyes with great effort just to catch Dean wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

As Cas stared at him, beautiful and breathless, he thought, _ fuck, I’m spent. I’m ruined. It’s him, isn’t it? The one that’ll break everything in me, just to put it all back together again_. And he knew, no matter how much it scared him, and how much he wanted to escape, that there was a real risk that he might fall in love with Dean, and that if he did, he would never recover. 

“Kiss me,” he whispered, desperately. 

“You don’t have to ask me twice, Detective,” Dean said, his voice almost slurring as he climbed up Cas’ body. Dean’s hand ran along his jaw and cupped his cheek before pressing a tender, euphoric kiss to his lips. 


	5. Proverbs

** **

**Part Five- Proverbs**

_ “Seek His Will in all you do, and He will show you what path to take.” Proverbs 3:6 _

* * *

* * *

“Hey, it’ll be fine. You trust me, right?” His fingers brushed Castiel’s. 

“More than anything,” the young detective said with wide blue eyes. He was leaning on his partner’s desk, sitting on the edge. He was perched on there like some lovesick girl. He was hanging on every word. “It just doesn’t sound safe.” 

“Listen, Rookie, I’ve been at this a long time. I know how to handle an undercover assignment.” 

Castiel scratched the back of his head, his eyes focused a little too much on his partner’s lips. “I’m just worried. Captain said it isn’t safe… he said we shouldn’t go through with it.” 

His eyes scanned the area around them before taking Castiel’s face in his hands. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, okay? You trust me, right?” 

He did. He trusted him with everything inside of him. “Yes.” He nodded quickly, and then he was being kissed. The lips against Castiel’s were warm and surrounded by a soft beard that tickled his upper lip. He’d never been good at growing facial hair, but he felt there was something dignified about a beard. His partner had so much to teach him, and he wanted to learn. 

They were in the middle of the precinct, they shouldn’t be kissing. It was dangerous. It was one thing at home, or in their squad car. That could be hidden, but out in the open like that? Castiel would be transferred. No matter how much he wanted to be kissed, it wasn’t worth losing everything. 

He opened his eyes and his partner was gone, his lips still tingling from his kiss. It was dark and it was snowing. Was it snowing? The young detective squinted at the sky. 

He was outside of an unmarked police vehicle where he knew he was supposed to be staying. Listening in his ear piece, but it had gone dead already. There was just crackling in his ear. There was something deeply wrong. He knew it in his gut. So he ran.

He turned the corner into an alley, passing a man sitting against the wall. “Change?” The man asked, jingling his cup. He passed the man in a blur. 

_ I’m coming for you, hold on_, he begged, but he couldn’t speak. Every time his mouth opened it felt like he was choking on the words, on the air. _ Shit_. 

The crackling in his ear was growing louder and louder. _“__You trust me, right?” _He did. He did, and it wasn’t enough. “Ow, fuck.” Castiel ripped the earpiece out of his ear and tossed it to the ground, but the buzzing didn’t stop. It was like his head was infested with bees. Buzzing, stinging inside his brain. He worried they’d climb out of his eyes and his nose. 

He coughed again, feeling a scratching in his throat. There was something in there. He clawed at his ears, trying desperately to find the source of the sound. He gagged. It was like something was climbing his throat. He coughed and coughed, leaning over with his hands on his knees. With one more big cough, he finally felt relief as something soft landed on his tongue. He held out his hand and spit out whatever was stuck. 

The pitch of the buzzing was rising, higher, and higher. It sounded more like a scream. The scream was familiar. 

The little golden fuzz in his hand stood up on its little legs and shook itself free from the saliva and blood that covered it. It was a bee. He opened his mouth to let out a gasp, some sort of shock reaction, and as he did, he felt dozens of tiny legs crawling up his throat. Buzzing in his mouth, stings, fuzzy bodies, wings flapping desperately. 

The scream was his own.

Castitel woke up in a cold sweat, Dean asleep on his stomach next to him. His back was littered with tiny freckles illuminated by the moonlight through the window. His shoulders raised as he let out a soft, gentle snore. The detective pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will the nightmares away. Every time he thought they were over, they’d come back stronger. He slid out of bed and walked into his bathroom. 

He clicked on the light. It was harsh, fluorescent, and buzzing like the bees from his dream. He turned on the sink, the water gurgling in annoyance as it sprouted to life. He leaned down and splashed his face with cold water. It was cool, like rain on his skin. He held the edges of the sink, trying to gather his breathing. “You’re okay, Castiel,” he told himself quietly. “Don’t crack up now. Not when things are getting good again.” 

After a few more breaths he could feel his feet against the tile, the cool marble on his fingers, the water dripping down his cheeks and off his chin. He could feel a breath on his neck. He looked up at the mirror with a smile, ready to meet Dean’s beautiful green eyes, but it wasn’t Dean.

“Cas, get the fuck out of here!” 

A hand twisted in his hair, slamming his face into the mirror. 

The sound of glass splintering pulled Castiel out of sleep. He reached up to his forehead to touch the blood. He pulled his wet fingers away. No blood, just sweat. 

“Sweetheart, you good?” Dean mumbled in his sleep. 

“Just a bad dream,” Castiel gasped, closing his eyes. 

“I got ya, don’t worry.” He wrapped an arm around Cas’ middle, pulling him closer. “Always gonna take care of you, Detective.” 

He pressed his forehead to Dean’s and tried to match his breathing. “Okay,” he whispered, desperately wanting to believe him. “Okay.” 

_ The next morning _

Kissing Dean Winchester was like a drug. It made Castiel’s head fuzzy and everything felt like some kind of dream. A good dream. For once in his life it felt like he’d found the cure. Dean was the cure to everything. He was the answer. He slept well with Dean holding him. If he could wake up like that every day, he would. Especially when Dean’s hand was inside of Cas’ underwear. What a fucking way to wake up. It almost felt undeserved. “Good morning.”

“What time do you have to be into work?” Dean asked, placing open mouthed kisses down his neck. 

“What time is it now?”

“Ten past seven.” 

“Now,” Castiel grumbled, wrapping his arms around him. “I don’t want to, though.” He leaned in and kissed Dean. 

They’d been up well past three o’clock the night before, tangled together, talking about everything before they finally drifted off to sleep. They were learning each other, their bodies, their minds, their hearts.

Dean laced his fingers with Castiel’s, their bare legs twisted together one over the other. His head was on Cas’ chest._ “You always wanted to be a cop?” _

_ “Yes. For my whole life I wanted to make a difference. I think people deserve to be protected.” _

_ “So why homicide? Doesn’t that feel a little after the fact?” _

_ “The dead deserve justice, too, Dean. Don’t you think so?” _Castiel asked, stroking the length of Deans bare arm.

_ “I do,” _he murmured._ “Of course I do.” _

“Go to work.” Dean kissed him once more. “Solve crimes. I’ll bring you lunch around noon?”

Castiel squinted at him. “What do you do all day, Dean?”

“Wait to hear from you or Sammy.” He grinned. “I’m a kept man.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” 

“Get off so I can get ready.” Cas kissed him quickly before slapping his ass, signaling him to roll off.

“Yes sir.” Dean grinned, rolling onto his back with a yawn. “I didn’t get much sleep,” he complained. 

“I can make coffee.”

“God, I think I’m falling in love with you.” 

Castiel knew it was a joke, but he liked the sound of it nonetheless. “Maybe I can see your place next time.”

“Even though Sam will be there?” Dean gasped dramatically. 

“He knows now, and it isn’t as weird as originally anticipated so, why not?”

“You’re full of surprises.”

“Surprises, as in more than one?” Castiel glanced back at him, buttoning his shirt. He still only wore his boxers from the waist down. 

“That thing you did with your tongue.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows. “Buddy, _ that _was a surprise.”

Castiel’s face turn pink, he cleared his throat and turned back to his shirt, hastily working on the buttons. “You surprised me, too, Dean.”

“Was it the thing I did with _ my _ tongue? I feel like it's a little overused.”

Castiel shot Dean a look before looping his tie around his neck. “No, with the boyfriend deceleration.”

“I wouldn’t call it a declaration,” Dean said awkwardly. 

“Then what would you call it?”

Dean climbed up on his knees before standing. He met Castiel and took his tie in his hands. He looped it, the rabbit going in the hole. “I used to do this for Sammy all the time. He’s rotten at tying ties.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Dean smiled, smoothing out his tie. “Because I like you. You’re tough, and you kind of dress like an old man, but in a charmin’ way.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Just shut up and let me do my thing.”

“Sorry.”

“You’ve got these eyes, Cas, wow. They’re so fuckin’ blue, it’s like staring at the sky. I can see my future in them, ya know? Like suddenly it doesn’t matter what I’m gonna be. If you’re lookin’ at me it’s all that matters. I like when you look at me.”

“I like looking at you too, Dean.”

“You don’t smile a lot,” he said, running his thumb along Castiel’s bottom lip. “But when you do it’s like... wow. It’s pretty fuckin’ beautiful.” 

“You’re beautiful, too.” 

“Put on some pants, Casanova.” Dean chuckled, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “Before you’re late to work.”

“What about the coffee?”

“I’ll stop by the corner shop on the way home. I should probably work on an article. You know, contribute to society.”

_ A half hour later _

Charlie sat with her feet propped up on her desk. She was reading a comic book intently, but her eyes flickered up when Castiel walked in. She sat her comic down and hopped up, clapping wildly. “There he is!”

“What are you doing?” He grumbled, heading straight to the coffee machine. The little sleep he and Dean had gotten was starting to hit him. The memory caused his skin to heat up again. 

“I’m just proud of you,” she said, rushing to him. 

“For?”

She punched his shoulder gently. “I heard about the kiss! You went home with Dean!”

“He went home with me, technically.” Castiel poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip before glancing at her. “Wait, how did you hear? Who told you?”

“Eileen, who else?”

“Great,” he grumbled. 

“Well, what did you expect when you were making out at a crime scene?”

“You are way too happy about this.” 

“I’m not even showing half of my excitement, if you can believe it.” 

“Unfortunately, I can.” 

“Why aren’t you happy? Shouldn’t you be glowing? Unless...” She covered her mouth. “Oh my _ god_! It wasn’t good. Oh _ shit!_” 

“I didn’t say that.” Castiel sipped his coffee, to conceal his growing smile. 

“So, you _ did _ do it? My _ god_, this is a rollercoaster.” 

He glanced around the precinct to make sure no one else was paying attention to him when he leaned in and whispered. “We did and it was unbelievable.” 

Charlie grabbed his hand and started jumping up and down. “Yes!” 

“Relax.” He laughed, shaking his head. 

“You’re laughing at work,” Sam commented, as he approached the coffee. “Do I want to know?”

“Absolutely not,” Charlie snorted and gave him a wink. 

“Noted,” Sam said, pouring himself a cup. “The press conference is in an hour,” he added carefully. 

“I know,” Castiel said with a sigh. 

“Do you know what you’re going to say?”

“Not a clue.” He hadn’t had much time to think about it. 

“Maybe we should prep with Captain Singer first, I’m sure he has some things that he’ll want us to say.” 

“I don’t know,” Charlie said under her breath. “He’s been locked in his office all day with the blinds closed. You can’t pay me enough to disturb him.” 

“That’s literally what you’re paid for,” Sam said with a laugh.

“Yeah, but I’m not paid _ enough_.” 

“None of us are.” Castiel winked at her before taking his cup back to his desk. Sam followed at his heels. “We need to assure the public that we are putting our best foot forward in trying to catch this guy. We can let them know his suspected M.O., but we need to be careful giving too many details. You won’t answer any questions. I’ll handle the press.” 

“You aren’t alone in this, you know that, right?”

Castiel met his eyes. The kid, the rookie, his partner was optimistic even with the solve rate they were getting with the murders. 

_ “You know, if you let me, I could have your back, too. I’m actually pretty good at it. Isn’t that what partners are for?” _

“I do know that, or at least I’m learning that.” 

Sam had this thing about him. This unwavering ability to see good and hope in everything he did. It was a gift that Castiel had never possessed, or could hope to possess. 

“Does Dean know about the press conference?” Sam asked, sitting his coffee down. 

“I didn’t mention it to him. Why?”

“Thought it may be nice to have a familiar face in the crowd.” 

“I don’t need your protection, Rookie. I have done this before.” 

“Right,” Sam said, avoiding his eyes. “You two have been getting closer.” 

“We have,” Castiel agreed. “But this isn’t the time or place to be discussing or personal lives, so if you don’t mind, I think we should focus on the case. There’s a killer out there.” 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.” 

“No harm.” Cas nodded, before shuffling through his papers. 

“Goddamn idgits!” Captain Singer shouted, as his office door flew open. 

“Captain,” Sam said, turning to him.

“Please tell me you’ve got somethin’. The mayor is on my case, boys. This is gettin’ out of hand.” 

“Nothing yet. Maybe after the press conference...” 

“Damn it,” Captain Singer sighed. “Forgot all about that fuckin’ thing.” He looked at his watch and sighed. “Winchester, have you ever been bent over a counter?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “I can’t say I have.” 

“Well, you’re in for a fucking treat. Gear up, boys.” Singer said, as he made his way outside to the front steps where the press conference was being held. 

“Hello, Bobby. Delightful to see you again.” 

Castiel turned and groaned. The voice came from Bela, an elusive reporter, who always seemed to get the jump on the 66th precinct when they were falling short. She clicked her pen in her hand. 

“Pleasure is mine,” the captain said curtly. 

“Fix your tie,” Castiel said to Sam through gritted teeth. He was underprepared, and Dean’s aftershave was still stuck on his lips. Being bent over the counter would only be a fraction of what the rest of the day had out for them. 

Sam immediately tightened his tie and flattened out his shirt before following Castiel out to the area where the rest of the reporters were gathered. There were a dozen of them, all dressed to the nines. Castiel was suddenly feeling drab in his blazer and blue tie, even though Dean assured him that it made his eyes glow in an inhuman way. Perhaps he shouldn’t glow in the wake of three murders, criminals or otherwise. He stepped onto the platform in front of the microphones. All seven were pointed directly at him, readying to catch any wrong word or slip of the tongue, ready to watch him crash and burn at any given moment. 

“Good morning. Thank you all for gathering here today,” Castiel said into the microphone, the feedback whirring in response. His palms were flat on the podium and already sweating. “On November 11th, the club owner of Crossroads, Fergus Crowley, was murdered in the streets of New York City. On December 19th, Lucas Azazel was murdered, and yesterday, December 30th, the infamous writer Metatron was found dead. Our autopsy team is still establishing a time of death and the exact cause, but a stab wound to the chest is suspected to be the cause of death. I am the lead detective on this case along with my partner, Detective Winchester. I assure you that we have our best men on the case.”

“Your best men?” Bela asked, stepping forward with her tape recorder held up. “On the record, Detective, do you have any leads? Have your _ best men _ made any headway on these murders?”

“We do not have anything to report to the media at this time.”

“Shouldn’t our citizens be afraid, Detective? There is a murderer on the loose and you have no leads.” 

“I didn’t say that we didn’t have leads,” Castiel backpedaled, his upper lip starting to sweat despite the chill in the air. His eyes flickered from Bela’s, and there he was. _Dean_. He was in the back, offering an encouraging smile. He would be there, Castiel knew then, that he would always be there. 

“But you didn’t say that you did.”

“We are pursuing ideas,” the older detective explained. “We are waiting for forensics to come back. I assure you, we are doing all that we can to keep this city safe.”

“What exactly are you doing to protect the citizens? _ Ideas_? _ Waiting_? From where I’m sitting, it looks like the police are doing what they always do. Sit around, drink coffee, and allow criminals to go free.” 

“We are doing everything that we can!” Sam sputtered out, stepping forward to talk directly to Bela. “Detective Novak is a good man and an even better detective. He is working himself to the bone trying to catch this guy! He can’t help it if we hit a dead end...” 

“Is is true that the killer is writing letters directly to Detective Novak?” 

“How did you find out about that?” The rookie asked with wide eyes. 

“What about you, Detective Winchester? Who do you have as a suspect? Do you have any comments on your brother’s reckless activity with the first victim?”

Sam opened his mouth to answer, but Castiel cut him off. “Rookie, stop,” he said, grabbing hold of Sam’s shoulder. 

“On record, can either of you explain what your connection to the killer is? He seems to be targeting past criminals that either of you have been assigned to. What do you have to say about that, Detectives?” 

“I think that’s enough,” Captain Singer growled. “No comment,” he said to the reporters before pushing both of the detectives back into the precinct. 

“What the fuck were you two idgits thinking?” The Captain asked them when they were out of earshot of the reporters, shoving Castiel out of the way. “Did you even prep?”

“I...I haven’t been sleeping well,” Castiel admitted. 

“He prepped,” Sam said quickly, trying to cover for Castiel . 

“I don’t want to hear anything from you, boy. You weren’t even supposed to be talking,” the Captain snapped. 

“It’s my fault,” Castiel said softly. “I didn’t prep him well enough. If there are any kind of ramifications, they should go onto me.” 

“Oh trust me, they will. Now get out of my fuckin’ sight until I can think of a punishment, and for god’s sakes, solve this goddamn case. The press is gonna have a field day with all of this!” The captain turned and stormed back into his office, slamming the door behind him. The windows rattled from the pressure of the door. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam said with a wince. “I lost my cool out there.”

“It’s my fault. He’s right, I wasn’t prepared. I’ve been distracted.” 

“You haven’t been. You’re the opposite of distracted, Novak. I’ve never seen anyone so focused. I know I shouldn’t have said what I said up there, but it wasn’t a lie. You’ve been killing yourself over this case.” 

“And as sleazy as Bela is, she was right, too. I still don’t have any leads. I’m not doing enough.” 

“Come on, Cas.” 

“That’s enough, Rookie,” he said, sharply. “I can’t keep letting myself get distracted. Go through the case files again. Find something we’ve missed.” 

“We’ve gone through them a hundred times.”

“Make it two hundred, Rookie, and don’t make me ask you again.” 

“Right,” Sam sighed and picked up the files off Novak’s desk and went back to his own desk to rifle through them. 

Castiel needed a minute. Fuck, he needed a year. He needed a lifetime, but a smoke break would have to do. He pushed out to the back alley, his favorite smoking spot. He leaned against the wall and took a few deep breaths of the cold air before digging out his cigarette and lighter. 

“It’s a madhouse out there.” 

Castiel turned to catch Dean smiling at him. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, walking toward him. “That was fucking brutal.” He laughed dryly, itching the back of his head. Castiel eyed the bulge of his bicep through his coat. 

“It was,” he agreed. “How’d you get back here?”

“Hopped the fence. I’m limber.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows at him.

“I know that.” 

“You okay?”

Castiel inhaled a breath of smoke and closed his eyes. “I’m not sure.” 

“That Bela is a shark.” 

“She is,” he sighed. “She’s always had it in for us. There’s not much she won’t do for a scoop.” 

“There should be a goddamn line,” Dean said angrily, causing Cas’ chest to feel even more suffocated, the buzz from the cigarette not helping to calm his stressed mind. 

“I don’t know. I think I’d give just about anything for a break in this case,” he admitted, biting back the urge to smash something, or fucking weep.

“You wouldn’t sell your soul, Cas. Not like that.” 

Castiel turned to him, and stomped out his cigarette, frustrated. Dean didn’t understand, how could he? He didn’t hold a person's life in his hands like Castiel did. “Maybe I would if it got a killer off the streets.” 

“What about Crowley? If it weren’t for this guy he would still be kidnappin’ girls. What about Amara? Bet she’s restin’ a lot easier knowin’ he’s gone.” Dean stepped toward him. 

“That isn’t for us to decide,” Castiel said, anger bubbling in his already gravelly voice. He wasn’t convinced, he was just pissed off. “That’s for the law.” 

“He was a fuckin’ creep, Cas! The law was on his side when it shouldn’t have been.” 

“And whose fault was that? You made us arrest him early, Dean, and damn it, I’ve been so distracted by you that I haven’t been doing my best!” He wanted to push Dean, key Belas car, or maybe slam his fists into the wall. Anything to keep him from just standing there feeling completely useless, suckling a cigarette like it was a binkie.

“You’ve been doin’ good, Cas,” Dean said gently, genuinely kind. 

“Not good enough,” Castiel said, shoving his hands in his pockets. His shoulders were weighing him down like the whole goddamn world was resting on them. 

“Why are you beating yourself up over these criminals?” Dean’s eyebrows came together. He reached out for Castiel, and Cas backed away from his touch. 

“It’s my job to protect the citizens of this city whether I personally think they deserve the protection or not. It’s my job, Dean. You don’t seem to understand that,” he snapped, tired of Dean’s easy attitude, his lack of responsibility, and the way he distracted Castiel.

He should’ve been prepping for that damn press conference, but instead he was rolling around in the sheets like some horny teenager.

“I understand that perfectly.” 

“Then let me work.” 

“I just thought that...” 

“Let me work, Dean! You may not feel the need to work, but people’s lives are in my hands. I can’t continue to squander that responsibility.” It was harsh, but like how his mother would slap his hand when he’d reach for a cookie before dinner, sometimes harsh was the only way to get the point across.

“Fine, Cas. Work.” Dean backed away from him with his hands up in surrender. “I’ll see you later.” He turned away and hopped up to climb the fence, his fingers curling in the wire as he hoisted himself over easily. 

Castiel watched him go, his chest aching. He wanted to call after him, to tell him to stay, to let Dean kiss away all of the pain that the press conference, the kills, and the fucking letters, but he knew that the only thing that would release the pain that was buried inside of him was catching the murderer. He wouldn’t be able to sleep until it was all over. 

He went back inside to get some coffee, dragging himself to the coffee cart. His temples pounded from his fight with Dean, and he hoped the caffeine would keep a migraine from surfacing.

“Novak! There you are!” Sam shouted, waving him over. 

“You’re peppy, Rookie. Tell me you found something,” Castiel said with a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Actually, I did. So, get this.” Sam brought Castiel over to his desk where the faces of all of the men were laid out. “There was the obvious connection between them because of the cases that you worked on, but there’s more.” 

“More?”

“I found out that there is an exclusive poker night that all three of our vic’s have went to.” Sam said excitedly. “Maybe our killer is a part of the poker night.” 

“How’d you figure this out?”

“I went back through all of the statements from the families. They all confirmed that the deceased was a part of a high stakes poker game every Thursday night at eight o’clock in the evening. All of them.” Sam tapped on the quote from the family in one of the files. 

“How the fuck did we miss this?” Castiel scooped up the page.

“We were so focused on your connection to the victims. We were too close to it. I think we just needed a little bit of space from it all.” 

“Rookie, I could kiss you!” 

“Hey, save it for the other Winchester.” Sam laughed.

“I owe you a cup of coffee. Real coffee. Damn good work Rookie.” 

“Thanks.” Sam was beaming, his dimples showing on his cheeks. He scratched the back of his head. “So, uh, how are we going to get into this poker match?”

“Shit,” Castiel sighed, his head pounding again. He couldn’t do it. Not again. 

“We can go undercover,” Sam offered. 

“No way.”

“I can do it, Cas. Give me a shot.” 

Castiel watched his partner. The bright eyed rookie’s fingers were curled into fists and his eyes were bright and hopeful. He had a fire within him. The detective sighed before flashing Sam an encouraging smile. “You good at Poker, Rookie?” 

_ Later _

“You’ve got company,” Castiel said into his ear piece urgently, as he watched two men cross his undercover vehicle. They had guns, and the sight of it got Castiel unbuckling from his set in the car. “Do you hear me, Detective?”

His jaw was set tightly, his hand on the handle of the door. “Talk to me or I’m coming in,” he threatened. 

Rain started to fall, the sound of it like pop rocks as they hit the windshield. 

“I’m fine. Trust me,” his partner said into the earpiece.

Castiel slumped back in his seat. “Thank god.”

He didn’t know what he would do if something happened. Captain hadn’t agreed to the sting. He told them to back off the case. That it was too dangerous, but Castiel couldn’t say _ no_. Not to _ him_. “Relax, Rookie. I’ll be fine. Now shut your pretty mouth, so I can work. Usually I like when you whisper into my ear, but right now it distracting.” 

“Sorry, Benny,” Cas whispered, putting his face in his hands. “Just be careful.” 

“Heard.” 

Everything felt fast, too fast. There was rustling. A shout. One shot, another. _ Bang! _ Castiel didn’t remember getting out of the car when suddenly he was running. Rain drops on his face. The memory of Benny’s lips on his neck. _ “Name’s Detective Lafitte, but you can call me Benny.” _ His first partner in Homicide. His mentor. The first man to look at him like he meant something. The first one since Inias, but even then they were _ kids_. Benny was different. 

“Don’t die!” Castiel wailed, pushing forward. The buzzing in his ear came back. It was the sound of the earpiece going dead; a dull, lifeless static. 

He saw a figure dash around the corner and he pushed faster. _ Should’ve listened to the Captain. _His heart pounded in his chest. The shadow of a man disappeared through a doorway, and Castiel followed him. As he crossed the threshold, his shoe caught on the rug, and he tripped inside. 

“What are you doing, brother?” Benny asked, concerned. They were in the precinct, and Castiel blinked, disoriented.

“What?” He looked up at the man in front of him, strong and concerned. “You’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Come on, pretty eyes, we have a case to work.” 

“Right,” Cas said with a nod, even though he couldn’t remember the case for the life of him. 

Benny brought him to the debriefing room where there was a large board with push pins, holding up dozens of pictures from the case file. Burnt angel wings, victims’ faces, bible verses, letters. “This isn’t right,” Castiel whispered, touching the pages. 

“What are you doing, Rookie?” Benny asked quietly, slipping his hands around his partners waist. 

Cas turned to look at him, and then he was being kissed. The blinds in the briefing room were drawn shut and they were the only two people in the office, in the world. Benny’s lips were urgent and his beard was soft. Castiel’s hands wrapped around his partner’s neck, the case quickly forgotten. Benny was like whiskey, sweet like honey and aged to perfection. The young detective wanted to drink in his mentor and learn all he had to teach. There was something sexy about how much the older detective had to offer. The experience that he carried within him was alluring. 

Benny ran his tongue along his partner’s lips, asking for him to open his mouth wider. Cas complied, allowing him to lick into his mouth. The kiss was all passion, _ heat_, and blood. Blood? 

Castiel gasped as Benny collapsed in his arms. They were in an alleyway, and Castiel was on his knees holding his partner in his hands. The older detective gasped, his bullet wound pooling blood on his chest. Thick, red liquid poured from his mouth and every time he opened his mouth to speak nothing came out but a distinct gurgle. He was choking on his own blood. 

“No, no, no!” Castiel cried. He could feel the pain in his gut. His throat was dry. “Shit, don’t die on me!” He picked up his phone, trying to dial, but his fingers were covered in blood. Everything was covered in blood.

He looked back down at Benny, whose eyes flew open and locked with his. “You know the answer.” His partner’s hand shot to the back of his neck, grabbing it roughly. “Don’t let this happen again.”

Castiel’s eyes shot open, his heart pounding in his chest. He was at his desk. He’d fallen asleep prepping the sting. He stood up immediately and walked to the coffee maker. He felt sick to his stomach, and he couldn’t risk drifting again. Not with all that was at stake. Not if he would keep seeing Benny’s face in his nightmares. 

He pulled out a coffee mug as Eileen walked up to him. “Novak, I was looking for you,” she said, looking up at him. She was holding a small stack of papers. 

“Got something, Eileen?” he asked, his temples pulsing from the nightmare, the hour, the fight with Dean. He poured himself a cup of burnt coffee. It was better than nothing. 

“I identified the drug that was used on the writer.” 

“Really?” Castiel turned to look at her, taking a sip. “What is it?” 

“Morphine,” Eileen said slowly, watching the detective’s mouth to read his lips.

“Where would someone get that?” 

She shrugged. “A hospital most likely. It can be used in terminal patients to keep them sedated.”

He frowned and stared into his cup of coffee. _ A medical professional? Someone who has access to a hospital? _“Good work, Eileen. Keep up with it, and we will catch this guy in no time.”

_ One week later _

Sam went under the guise of a rich heir to an empire. They combed his hair back and put him in a designer suit. “Do I get to keep this when we’re done?” Sam asked, looking at himself in the mirror. 

“You do look nice, kid,” Castiel said, resting a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He looked at his partner in the mirror with a grim expression. “You sure you want to do this?”

“I’m sure,” he said, smoothing out his sports coat. “I can handle it.” 

“I’ll be on the main casino floor, listening.” 

“I know.” 

“How does Dean feel about this?” Castiel asked cautiously. 

“Dean?”

“Yes...” He shifted his weight. He hadn’t talked to the eldest Winchester since their fight behind the precinct, and with the sting in motion he hadn’t bothered to reach out. He did ask for space, after all. “You did tell him you were doing this?”

“No, actually. I didn’t.” 

“Why not?”

“He wouldn’t like it. I’m sure he’d be down here insisting I be taken off the case immediately. I’m an adult. I don’t need to check in with him.” 

“Right.” 

“You two aren’t talking, are you?” Sam asked, eyeing Castiel in the mirror. 

“Why do you ask that?”

“He’s been moping around the apartment constantly for the last week.” 

Castiel smiled to himself. He couldn’t deny the pleasure that grew in his belly, hearing Dean was miserable without him. The word _ boyfriend _rang in his head again like a familiar tune. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Yeah.” Sam smirked. “You sure look it.” 

“Alright, Rookie,” Castiel said with some feigned annoyance, and Sam turned around to face him. “Do you have any questions? Should we go over it again?”

“No, Cas. I’ve got it.” 

“This isn’t the time to play around, Winchester. This is serious.” 

“I know that,” Sam said flatly. “And I’m telling you that I’ve got this.” 

“Alright, alright.” Castiel waved him off. “Let me take a look at you.” 

Sam spun slowly so his partner could get a good look. His suit was pristinely pressed, and each hair was gelled down in the right place. 

“You look good,” he said, after adjusting Sam’s tie. “You’ll do well, kid.” 

“Thanks, Novak. Means a lot coming from you.” 

“Yeah, well, don’t go soft on me now.” 

“No chick flick moments,” Sam agreed with a nod.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just something Dean says to me when we’re getting a little too emotional.” 

“Right.” Castiel’s eyebrows came together in a frown. “Well, no chick flick moments, then. I suppose it’s time to go,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I’ll see you in there. Do you remember the code word?”

“Yeah, Poughkeepsie. I got it.” 

“Alright. Let’s do this.” 

_ Later that evening _

Sam Winchester walked into the casino like he belonged there. He played poker, betting high, with Castiel talking him through every move in his ear. He had to show off to get invited to the big players game, and he was doing fantastic. His eyes were focused, his lips unimpressed. He dished out chips after chips, not missing a hand. He was beginning to get a following, women were hanging over him, but none quite like the brunette at his side. Eileen. 

_ “I’m deaf.” _

_ “We know that,” _Castiel said, shortly.

_ “Deaf people are really good at poker,” _she explained, turning so Castiel was forced to look at her. Her fingers were producing words so rapidly that it was too hard to even try to keep up with her. _“I can see when people are lying. Pick up on their tells.” _

_ “We can’t risk something happening to you,” _Sam said, touching her hand to get her to calm down. Not worth the risk, he signed to her slowly. 

_ “I can get you in that room, Sam,” _she said to him, matching his tone perfectly._ “Promise.” _She signed as well as spoke for extra emphasis. 

_ “I don’t like it,” _Novak said slowly._ “But fine. We are out of options.” _

Eileen watched the other players and would tap Sam when he should bet. Once to match, twice to go all in. They were an unstoppable team. The other women hung on his shoulders, squealing when he would win a hand. His eyes flickered around the room. 

“Here they come,” Castiel whispered in his ear piece. 

A man in a pair of jeans and a deep black v-neck shirt tapped his shoulder. Sam turned toward the man, who smirked at him. He wasn’t the kind of man that Sam expected at a high stakes poker game, but still. “Can I help you?” Sam asked flatly, trying to sound unimpressed, despite the bubbles in his stomach. 

“I think I can actually help you, mate.” The man offered a hand. “Balthazar.” 

“Berkowitz,” Sam smiled, his dimples making an appearance. It almost looked genuine as he clasped his hand in Balthazar’s. “But you can call me David.”

“Balth, if you choose. Come with me, David, and I’ll show you were the real game is.” 

Sam stood slowly. “Sorry ladies,” he said directly to Eileen so she could read his lips. 

“Have fun,” she said out loud, but her hands signed,_ stay safe _. He nodded in response, gathered his chips, and followed Balth through the crowded casino. 

“So, where are we going?” Sam asked, trying to continue to sound casual. His heart was pounding under his skin, his blood pumping, racing through his veins. Suddenly the suit felt like a pressure cooker. 

“A private game.” Balth knocked three times in succession on a black painted door in the far end of the loud casino. The variety of machines were whirring in angry chimes, but somehow it felt entirely too quiet. It felt like the way the sky looked right before it stormed, daunting, but not yet dangerous.

The room was a fog of cigar smoke, and if Sam’s father hadn’t been an avid chain smoker, Sam would’ve been in a coughing fit the moment he walked in. Instead, he allowed the burn to enter his throat. He swallowed it down and kept walking. 

“Who's the new guy?” A voice asked, beyond the smoke. 

“David,” Balth said, his voice lacking enthusiasm of any kind. “We are down a few men, and he was getting a little bored on the main floor.” 

“Alright, David. Let’s see what you’re made of, take a seat,” the disembodied voice said.

Sam nodded and lowered himself into a seated position. He felt a little naked without Eileen on his arm to guide him, but he didn’t have to win. That wasn’t the purpose of the sting. He needed to vet who was at the poker match. He needed faces and names to investigate. 

“Rookie, you doing good in there?” Castiel muttered into his earpiece. 

“Alright, let’s play,” Sam said, almost a little too cheery to assure Cas that he was fine. He wasn’t calling Poughkeepsie yet, was he?

“Hold your horses, newbie. We are still waiting for another guy to show up. Sorry, son of a bitch is late,” a male voice said from behind the fog of cigar smoke. 

“You sure he’s coming?” Balth asked, lighting up his own cigar, increasing the smoke in the already compact space. “You smoke, Dave? Want one?”

Sam's eyes flickered from the cigar to Balthazar. Would the man respect him if he didn’t take one? It was about blending in, after all. “Sure.” He remembered Dean smoking one at Christmas. _ “Don’t inhale it into your lungs. Just hold it in your mouth and let it go.” _He held his hand out and Balthazar gave him a cigar and a light. 

He puffed the cigar the best he could, and his mouth burned in response. He let out the smoke calmly, even though his eyes stung and his lungs begged for a cough. He settled for clearing his throat instead. His eyes were adjusting to the group. Apart from Balthazar, another man sat across the table in a maroon blazer. His hair was cut shorter than Balthazar’s, but he looked messy still with a beard that he was scratching on his chin. Sam recognized him immediately. Chuck Shurley, another famous author of a long running book series. He was known to have a god complex, but Sam wasn’t sure that he fit the profile. 

Next to Chuck sat a woman with lightly curled brown hair and a serious gaze. She licked her full lips at the sight of Sam, because who was he kidding? He was staring. She was just as famous as Chuck, if not more so. Duma was a famous television evangelist. She ran her own show where she talked about God, Heaven, the whole nine. They’d assumed, up until that moment, that the killer was a man. It was the choice of victims, the fact that these powerful men wouldn’t be easily subdued, but perhaps she didn’t need strength. Eileen had found drugs in the system of the third victim, just enough to make him pass out. Since he knew Duma already, it would be all that she would need to get the jump on him. Maybe she had a similar set up they had missed with the other three. “Is there something on my face?” She asked cooly.

“No,” Sam stumbled a bit. “Sorry. Eyes are just still adjusting.” 

“Right,” Duma said, looking down at her nails. “Balthazar, can we hurry this up, or are we going to wait for Sam forever?’ 

Sam’s heart leaped up his throat. “What?”

“The last guy we are waiting for. Name’s Sam.” Balth shrugged. “Let's give ‘em five minutes, and then we can get started. I’ll pour you some wine, Duma.” 

“I’d appreciate that,” she almost hissed. 

The door clicked open, the dull light from the casino floor and the whirring of the games invading their smoke filled bubble. “About time, Sam,” Balth said with a hint of annoyance. “We were about to start without you.” 

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” the voice growled. “I told ya I was comin’, didn’t I?”

Sam’s blood ran cold. He would recognize that voice anywhere. It was the same voice that had woken him up in the morning to get ready for school growing up, the same one that stayed up late with him now watching stupid horror films. _ Dean_. He turned and found himself face to face with his brother. Neither were able to hide the obvious shock painted on their faces. Dean looked green even in the low light. A million questions sprang into Sam's mind but he had to choke them back. He couldn’t ruin everything. _ Fuck. _

“Rookie, what’s going on in there?” Castiel whispered in his ear. _ Cas! _What was he going to think if he heard Dean’s voice in the headset? 

Sam swallowed hard before reaching out a hand. “David,” he said forcing a smile. “You must be Sam?”

“I am,” Dean said, tensely. “Nice to meet you, Dave.” He wore a suit, his dress shirt underneath was unbuttoned at the top. Dean hated suits. Sam's head was spinning. “Should we play?” 

“Can I, uh, talk to you for a second? I’d love to know where you got your sport coat,” Sam stumbled over his words. He was losing his cool. _ Fuck_, he was losing it. 

“Sure,” Dean said curtly. “Don’t worry, Balth. We won’t be long.” 

“Fucking typical,” he groaned in response. 

“I should’ve brought my guitar,” Chuck complained quietly. 

Dean pulled Sam out of the room and into the corner of the club. “What are you doing here?” They both spat at the same time. 

Dean shook his head and pointed at his little brother. “Try again.” 

Sam looked around and removed the ear piece from his ear, clicking it off. They wouldn’t have long before Cas stormed the place, but he didn’t want him to hear. He had a bad feeling. “We are on a sting. We think one of the players is the killer. All of the deceased were a part of this poker group. Your turn.” 

“I’m sorry, Sam. I…I went through the case files when I was at the precinct before. Cas has been so _ stressed_, and I just wanted to help. When I read the files I started to suspect the same that you did, and I thought there was a story. I thought there were _ answers _... I thought...” 

“Dean, you thought the killer was _ here _ and you didn’t tell me? You didn’t tell _ Cas_?”

“No, I uh.. I wasn’t sure. Ya know? Thought I better be sure.” 

“You’re impeding an investigation.” Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “You were here and you didn’t tell me.” 

“You didn’t tell me _ you _were here either, Sammy.” 

“This is my job! I can’t tell you everything.” 

“And this is _my _job. My story.” 

“You always told me that you wouldn’t sell out anyone for a story. You’re doing so much worse than that right now. You’re risking lives by not telling the police your suspicions. Not telling _ me_. We don’t lie to each other, Dean. Shit, man... this... this looks...” 

“How does it look, Sammy? What aren’t you sayin’? Just fuckin’ out with it.” 

“You look guilty, Dean.” 

“Are you accusing me of somethin’?” Dean's lips were pressed together. 

“You’re my brother. I know you aren’t a killer, I’m just saying what it looks like. What it will look like when Cas sends the cops in here to make an arrest.” 

“You can’t let him come in here,” Dean said quickly. “He tried to bust you, Sammy. You’re right, this looks bad. He’s gonna be _ pissed_. He won’t believe me. You believe me though, right, Sammy?”

“I...” Sam looked at his brother. His pleading expression. His green eyes, glistening at the corners. 

“I was tryin’ to help. You have to believe me.” 

He eyed his brother. He knew who Dean was. Dean had raised him, after all. If he didn’t tell Sam about the game it was for a good reason. He thought he was doing the right thing. Sam knew that. He didn’t have to be convinced of Dean’s innocence, he knew he was innocent from the beginning. He was just angry.. “I... I believe you,” he said finally. “Just get the fuck out of here.”

Dean nodded and offered his brother a grateful smile. He glanced around and jogged out of sight. 

Sam put his ear piece back in, and turned it on. “Cas?”

“What the fuck is going on over there, Rookie? I’ve got the calvary on stand by.”

“I’ve got the names. Let’s pull back.” 

“You got it. Meet me out front.” 

_ Later that evening _

Castiel laid out the folders that they’d made up for every person in the poker game. He opened up the files, displaying photographs of Duma, Chuck, and Balthazar. “It’s gotta be Duma,” he said, tapping her smile in the picture. 

“She’s the only one with a religious background,” Sam agreed. “And she volunteers at hospitals, so she could have access to the morphine.”

“Maybe when she saw that her poker mates were being arrested, she thought that she should take it into her own hands.” Castiel picked up her photograph, he stared at her expression. She didn’t seem evil, but they usually didn’t. 

“Have you seen her show?”

“Don’t have cable, Rookie. When would I ever have the time to watch?”

“She’s extreme, is what I’m trying to say. She has a whole thing on sinners. She seems to know the Bible front to back.”

“Any idea if she has an alibi for any of the murders?”

“Not sure yet.”

“We should question her.” Castiel stretched, his neck popping. It was late, but not too late. They could get a big headstart to the case if they started right then, opposed to later. He was ready for the case to be over, and hell, he was tired of feeling like he was running in circles. Duma was the break they were looking for, she wasn’t going to get away. He wouldn’t lose another one, not this time. 

“We will go visit her in the morning,” Sam said, eyeing Cas. “We did good tonight, Novak. Take a break, you deserve it.”

He looked at the kid and a sense of pride settled within him. “You’re right, Rookie. You did well tonight,” he agreed. The clock on the wall had already informed him that it was too late to bring Duma in, and he had to make sure all of their ducks were in a row so they didn’t end up with a Crowley repeat. “It’s too late to bring her in. I’ll finish some paperwork...” 

“Cas?” Sam touched his hand over the papers he was shuffling.

“Huh?” He glanced up at his partner. The kid looked concerned, and Cas’ eyes flickered back to the papers, avoiding Sam’s gaze. 

“You look fucking exhausted. Go home and get some rest, and I’ll finish everything up. We will do a briefing in the morning and then we can bring her in.” 

“I’m not letting you pull an all nighter alone,” Castiel grumbled, shaking his head. He was the lead detective on the case. He was the one who kept fucking up, and the kid shouldn’t be left alone to deal with the boring part. “Not after the sting you just successfully pulled off.” 

“Look at me.” 

He looked at Sam with an annoyed squint. 

“You’ve been killing yourself over the case. I’ll take breaks. Maybe I’ll take Eileen out for a late dinner, and then I’ll get all of this done. We have a damn good couch in the break room, partner. I’ll get some rest and be ready to go when you come in tomorrow. You’re no good to me exhausted.”

“Right.” Castiel licked his lips and looked at the kid, _ really _ looked at him. The sting changed something in him, that was perfectly clear. He was confident and as Cas looked at him, he knew that the kid could handle it, as much as he didn’t want to let go of the reigns. Hell, maybe he could even get a good night's sleep before the big bust. He let out an estasterbated sigh. “Fine, but I’ll be in by seven so we can bring her in before lunch.”

“You got it,” Sam said with a wide grin. He looked so fucking proud of himself for being allowed to take on such a huge responsibility alone. Not even Cas could deny him that, he earned it. “Oh, and Cas.” 

Castiel turned to look at him, his coat already over his arm. _ He’s going to say something to make me change my mind. _

“Since I’ll be here I won’t... uh... I won’t be home.”

“I know that.” 

“I’ll be here.”

“I understand the concept,” he said slowly, not understanding what the kid was trying to get at. 

“So my apartment will be... vacant. Well, apart from my brother,” Sam said, laying it on a little thick. 

Castiel squinted at him again, with real annoyance. Sam was trying to butt in on his police work, insert himself more into the case, _ and _ into Cas’ love life. He had some nerve. “Understood,” he said curtly. “Make sure to get some coffee, Rookie. You’re starting to sound like a lunatic.” 

“You got it.” Sam smiled to himself before settling into his desk. “Now get the fuck out of here. If I hear from you before seven o’clock in the morning I am filing a formal complaint.” 

“I understand,” he grumbled, sliding into his coat. The Winchester brother’s would be the death of him, he feared. 

Castiel walked into the cold night air. It was dark, but in the street lights, he could see the large snowflakes floating down from the sky. He pulled his coat closer together. He was glad that he lived close to the precinct since he had forgotten his gloves and his hat. 

They’d arrest Duma in the morning and hopefully it’d all be over. He was barely thirty years old, but fuck he was so tired. He hadn’t even seen Christmas go by, it melted past him like snow in the sun. He hadn’t even bought a tree and didn’t bother with lights. What was the point when he would be spending the holiday alone? It was a lonely profession. No one wanted to stay up late with him, or see him always going, running after another dead body, another criminal. It was dangerous. It was a solitary existence, or at least it used to be, before _ him_. 

Castiel thought of Dean, with his green eyes and caramel hair. The freckles left by angel kisses along the bridge of his nose, his shoulders, and chest. He thought of the strength in his hands as he pulled Castiel against him when they danced. Charlie called him _ the guy_. Maybe he could be. He was always there, he stayed up late with Cas, he held him through the night, despite the no snuggling clause. Dean made Cas feel good in a way that no one had before. There was something about Dean Winchester that felt like forever. 

Castiel didn’t realize he was walking in the completely wrong direction until he was standing at the stoop of the Winchester’s apartment building. It wasn’t fancy, but how could it be with a cop’s salary? Cas pushed through the door and climbed the stairs, one flight, two flights, three flights, and he stood in front of Dean’s door on a welcome mat that stated: _ Take Out? _He smiled a little at the lack of taste that certainly came from the older Winchester. 

His fist hovered over the door. Maybe he was wrong, maybe it would all melt away, maybe Dean wasn’t the guy, maybe it was a mistake, or _ maybe it wasn’t. _ He knocked three times. His fist was still hovering over the door when Dean swung it open. 

“You’re not my pizza,” Dean said, his eyes wide in surprise. 

“No.” Cas stood there awkwardly. The snow was melting in his hair, he could feel the dampness against his ears. “Are you disappointed?”

“I didn’t order a pizza,” Dean said smoothly with a shit-eating grin. “So, no, buddy. Not disappointed at all.” He opened the door a little wider for Cas to walk in. 

The lights were off in the apartment except for Dean’s writing desk. His typewriter was set up next to a stack of books, a paper popping out at the top. “Were you writing?” Castiel asked apologetically. 

“Just doin’ what I told Sam I’d be doin’,” Dean said with a shrug. “Don’t worry, I was due for a break anyway.” 

Castiel stood in the door, awkward in his coat, in his skin. 

“Take that off,” Dean instructed. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Take what off?”

“Your coat. I know this place is small, but we do have heat, ya know.”

“Of course.” Castiel removed his coat and hung it on the rack next to the door. 

“Now the shoes.” 

“Shoes?”

“They’re wet and covered with snow.” 

“Of course.” Castiel’s head was spinning. He was in Dean’s apartment. It was both everything he thought it would be and nothing at all. They had books that lined the wall of the small two bedroom apartment. He could tell that they had added extra shelves just to make room for the sheer number of books. There were some photos, minimal, but more than Castiel had at his own apartment. He nudged off his dress shoes, finally noticing that even his socks were wet, but it didn’t matter. None of it did. Not when he saw Dean in the low light, in just a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. It was late, wasn’t it? Far too late for a casual visit. “Have you read all of these?” Castiel asked quickly, gesturing to the books. 

“Between Sammy and I, yeah we have. Big readers.” His eyes flickered to Castiel. “You good?”

“What? Yes... I’m...” He couldn’t make himself say it. They were circling in on the killer. He was so close to the answers that he thought he could reach out and touch them, but Dean reached out and touched him instead, barely brushing his fingers. Their eyes met. 

Castiel was overjoyed about the news of the case, and the only person he wanted to tell was Dean. He wanted to tell Dean so many things. His thoughts were a hive of bees, flying around and buzzing. If he could pluck one out of the air, just one, a sentence. A phrase. _ Anything _ to say to the beautiful man in front of him. “I’m falling in love with you,” he spilled. _ Fuck_, those were not the words that he was wanting. 

He watched Dean’s face. He expected...something. Anything. He expected Dean to push him away. He expected Dean to shake his head, laugh right in his face, and make a joke. _ “Detective, don’t make this more than this is.” _He didn’t expect the complete stillness to Dean’s lips, his eyes scanning every inch of Castiel’s face before they landed on his eyes. “What did you say?”

“I said...” He sighed. He couldn’t say it again. Maybe he didn’t say it in the first place. Maybe he could back out of it. Maybe it wasn’t too late. 

“You’re in love with me?” 

“Falling...yes,” Castiel said as if it was the most painful thing in the world. Maybe it was. 

Dean’s lips pulled tightly across his teeth, curling into a smile. It was a beautiful smile. The kind that lights up a dark room. “That’s a relief,” Dean whispered, reaching out to hold Castiel’s cheek. “Because I thought I was a damn fool. _ Dean, you can’t go fallin’ in love with some big time detective. A guy like him wouldn’t want you. He wouldn’t look twice. _ But you... you lookin’ twice, Cas?”

“I’m looking twice,” he agreed, his heart tugging himself closer to Dean. He gave in and closed the space between them, their chests brushing. “But I will not be for a third time.” 

Dean’s face wilted, his grin transforming into a soft line. “You won’t?”

“Because this time I will not look away.” He pulled Dean’s face to his. He wanted to taste Dean’s smile, and so he did. He felt the relief flood through Dean’s body that matched Castiel’s own joy to find out that they were on the exact same page. _ The guy_. He smiled then, too, because sometimes good things happen. He had certainly accumulated enough good karma to deserve this, to deserve Dean. He wiggled out of his wet socks, his cold toes brushing against Dean’s bare feet. 

Cas felt Dean’s hands dance up his chest. He fiddled with the buttons, opening Castiel’s shirt, pushing his suspenders over his shoulders, his shirt falling to the floor moments after. Dean was unwrapping him like a package, quickly, but with care. His undershirt fell to the floor at their feet. His nipples perked up from the lack of clothing, despite the warmth in the apartment. He wasn’t wasting any time, and before Castiel could reach for Dean’s AC/DC shirt, it was off. Dean’s hands were back on Cas, on his chest, shoulders, back, running down his stomach. His fingers were warm, rough, and deeply familiar as they gripped his hips and lead him through the living room and down the hall. 

He was in Dean Winchester’s apartment, half naked, going to his room, and Dean was in love with him. He felt a little dizzy and tried to think back to his last meal that didn’t consist of just coffee, but he couldn’t think of anything other than the mouth of the man he loved sucking on his chin, despite the stubble. 

Dean’s own face was shaven clean. Who was that cleanly shaven so late at night? He remembered Sam’s pointed comments._ “So my apartment will be... vacant. Well, apart from my brother.” _

He wondered if Dean received similar directions; he could’ve been waiting for Castiel all along. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, as they hovered in the doorway to Dean’s bedroom.

“For what?” Dean asked his voice low, rough, and his eyes dark with lust. Cas could feel Dean’s thumb stroke his cheekbone, jaw, bottom lip.

“The fight.” 

“It’s forgotten, man.” He looked Castiel over and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “I can’t even remember what it was about. Trust me on that.” 

A smile tugged at the corner of Cas’ mouth. “Okay.” His eyes scanned the room. It was dark, but he could make out a bed in the center of the room, the headboard pushed up against a window that held no curtains. He could see the snow piling up on the fire escape outside from the streetlights and the moon. “So, this is your room?”

“Not really the time for a tour, Detective,” Dean said, his voice rougher than usual. 

Castiel smiled and turned back to him. Although his boyfriend was only a few inches taller, he still looked up at Dean through his eyelashes. “Does that mean we can’t tour your bed? Looks like a queen size, but I can’t tell from this far away.” 

Dean chuckled and pulled Cas back against him, taking him into his bedroom. He took a moment to take Cas in. His lips were swollen from kissing, his eyes a striking blue even in the darkness. Like Dean, he looked older than his age from his job. He seemed tired, his eyes sunken, thin, from not eating enough. His skin was pale, but otherwise flawless. He wasn’t hairy, like how Dean pictured a strong detective type to be, his chest was smooth. His arms strong from exercising and staying in shape. Under his belly button a small line of hair traveled down into his slacks. Dean had been there before, but somehow after the deceleration it felt different. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. 

Detective Castiel Novak loved him. Despite his annoying habits, or his lack of true career. Despite the fact that Dean was never supposed to end up with a guy like the detective, Castiel still loved him. It was exhilarating. He’d never felt that way before. To love and to be worthy of love were not in Dean Winchester’s vocabulary, but yet. But yet there Cas was, looking up at him through full eyelashes like a fucking Disney Princess, and damn it if Dean wasn’t falling in love with him all over again. It was like a hunger pain in his stomach, like back in college when he didn’t even have money for Ramen Noodles. He felt sick from the gnawing pain inside him, but that was a pain he could fix. He was hungry for Castiel. 

His eyes fluttered. Normally he would whisper something dirty into his partner's ear. Something truly filthy, to get them wet, or their dick twitching, but when Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s ear to whisper _ I want to fuck you until you scream my name, _something else came out entirely. “I’m going to make love to you.” God, he sounded like a fucking chick.

But by the reaction from Castiel as he pressed his erection against Dean's thigh, he decided that it was the right thing to say after all. They kissed again, slower this time. They could take their time. He was determined to memorize every part of the detective. He tasted like snow, stale coffee, and cigar smoke from being at the casino. Dean knew that he smelled like his pine body wash and mint shaving cream. They were an odd pair, but that was no big fucking surprise. 

Falling in love was learning. He was learning Castiel Novak’s habits, the way he liked to be touched. The way he liked it when Dean distracted him. The way he squinted when he wrote. The way his hand instinctively reached for Dean’s even when he was pretending to be mad. He was pretending, after all. He had to be. 

Dean walked the detective to the edge of the bed, unlatching Cas’ belt. His fingers worked with care, knowing that they were in sensitive territory. Cas let out an audible sigh as his fingers finally reached the zipper on Castiel’s slacks, and ran his hands along the waist of the pants, tickling at the skin along the waistband. He worked the pants down until Castiel was able to step out of them. Dean put his hands on his shoulders and slowly sat him down. The bed groaned against his weight, making chills roll up Dean’s spine. He couldn’t stop the image of the detective’s weight against his own body, against his skin. There was something so much _ more _about loving someone and wanting them to give that love back. It was a need. 

He kneeled in front of Castiel, remembering him trembling before. He could hear the detective suck his breath in at the sight of Dean in front of him. It could’ve been a proposal, but there were many reasons to find a beautiful man on his knees. Each worthy of breathlessness. He held Castiel’s thighs in his hands, opening the detective’s legs a little wider. He placed wet, open mouth kisses across the inside of his thighs, feeling Castiel’s muscles twitch in response and tighten around his shoulders. He felt Castiel’s fingers run through his hair, massage his scalp, and fuck it was good. Not even women touched him with such gentle fingers. There was a softness that only came when someone cared. _ Detective Novak loves you. _The words in his head were making him dizzy, his heart rate soaring. 

He reached between the detectives legs, gently, and with caution. He ran his fingers along Cas’ balls through his plaid blue boxers. _ God, he looks great in blue. _“Detective, you should only ever wear blue. Blue or nothing at all,” Dean murmured in lust, his lips along the waistband of his boxers. 

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Castiel said breathlessly. “Dean I...” 

“Shh,” he said, rubbing Cas’ balls in his fingers again, with a little more pressure this time. That shut the detective up quickly, his head rolling backwards, his blue eyes fluttering shut out of view. Dean smiled, liking being in control. There wasn’t a lot in his life that he could control, so when he found a way he had to succumb. He wanted Castiel, he wanted all of him. He hooked his fingers in the detective’s waistband of his boxers and slowly tugged them down. 

Castiel's cock sprung out of his boxers, eager and ready for him, glistening with precum. Dean swallowed the saliva that was already accumulating in his mouth. Before he came out as bisexual, the concept of a penis was distracting, foreign, it was something unitanable. Something that he could only wish for silently. Five years previously, he would have never imagined being face to face with a dick that was as fucking gorgeous as Castiel Novak’s, but there it was. He smiled at it like it was an old friend. 

“Dean, I...” 

His eyes flickered up to Castiel’s, a silent question as his fingers curled around the base of the detective’s cock. He gave it a gentle squeeze, enough to feel the pulse and throb against his fingers. He licked his lips, steadying his kneeled position to keep his legs from falling asleep or aching. 

He ran his fingers along the base of Cas’ cock a few times, adjusting his grip before stroking the length, his eyes flickered from the head of his cock to his eyes, his lips falling open in desperate breaths. He took Castiel in his mouth just a little at first, and then deeper, running his tongue along the head, tasting him. He needed Castiel, and the detective’s fingers were in his hair, massaging, pressing against the base of his head, his temples, causing him to groan. 

There was nothing like watching the detective, who was normally completely composed, fall apart under his lips. He felt Cas’ thighs twitch. He’d imagined being there more times than he could count, and every time he was it was better than the time before. He moved his mouth and replaced it with his hand so he could place little kisses on the detectives thighs. He nibbled a bit before sucking, leaving a trail of purple spots in his wake. 

“Dean,” Castiel gasped. It wasn’t the same way that he said _ Dean _ when he was annoyed, or _ Dean _ when he was chastising, or even _ Dean _when Castiel said he loved him. This was something else altogether. It was desperate and breathless, even a little whiny. The detective wanted him, and for the life of him, Dean couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more than hearing Cas say his name like that. 

“Do you like that?” He murmured against Castiel’s thigh, his fist picking up speed, slick from saliva and precum. 

“I want you.”

“You have me,” he promised, glancing up at Cas. 

“You said you were going to make love to me.”

There was that word again, _ love _.

“I did.”

“So, do it.”

Dean pursed his lips and smiled a bit, the butterflies in his stomach beating their wings rapidly. “You got it, Detective.” 

He kissed Castiel’s stomach, his chest, and then his lips. He kissed Castiel like it may be the last time that they could ever kiss, like it was the first time they’d ever kissed. It was a goddamn romance novel kiss. He didn’t grind against Castiel’s leg, or try to pop a feel. It was all devotion. They were dripping from desire, even the pressure from a kiss leaving them both dizzy. They would stay like that, tangled together, making good on Dean’s promise until they couldn’t take it anymore. 

_ Later _

The detective was running, his lungs burned, water droplets ran down his face. Was it rain or tears? He felt the terror twist in his gut. His shoes weren’t even broken in yet and the heel rubbed. 

He shouldn’t have trusted that things would be okay. He made the wrong call. _ Bang! _He hoped to a god that he didn’t believe in that Benny was okay. That he was safe. That he wasn’t dead.

He turned the corner into the alley. He saw three men standing at the end of the alleyway. “Benny!” He shouted out desperately. “Stop! NYPD!” Castiel reached for his badge, for his gun, for _ anything. _His fingers were trembling, fumbling, it was like he couldn’t grip. 

Benny turned to him in slow motion, his hand on a pile of cash. His eyes were wide, in shock. “Cas, get the fuck out of here!” 

“You’re with the cops?” The hooded figure asked before hitting Benny with the butt of his gun. 

“No I’m…” _ Bang! _

The gunshot echoed off the brick walls of the alley and right into Castiel’s soul, into his chest, and through his heart. He stopped running, frozen in place. _ No! _He tried to shout but no sound came out. His voice was stilted in his throat. The men scattered as Benny crumbled to the ground. 

Castitel forced his legs forward, harder, and harder. “Stop!” He cried out to the men. The murderers. Benny was going to stop them. He was supposed to expose them. Cas let him do the sting. It was his fault. His fault.

He ran to the first man that he let himself care about, crumbled to his knees. A cloud must have rolled across the sky and over the moon, because everything was bathed in darkness. “No, no! _ Please_!” The detective felt himself crying, his chest aching as he pulled his partner into his lap. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He turned Benny’s chin so he could check if he was breathing, so he could see his face. 

It wasn’t Benny.

It was Dean’s face in his lap. “Dean! Dean! _ Shit! _” Castiel looked down at the love of his life, his green eyes empty and unfocused. His lips were open in that same smile that he was so used to seeing. It looked like he was getting away with something. “No! You are not dying on me!” He leaned down to check Dean’s breath. Nothing. There was an empty, hollowness to his lips. It was too late. The blood was everywhere. On his mouth, his shirt, and all over Castiel. 

The detective pulled his limp body to his chest and wept into his neck. “I’ll get the motherfuckers that did this… I’ll,” he gasped out. He felt eyes on him. Someone was watching, some sick fuck. He turned to see who was brave enough to stare him down in a moment like that. 

A hooded figure stood over him, looking down with a tilt of his head. He looked almost inquisitive. He still held the gun that did the deed in his right hand. “You killed him,” Cas’ voice broke. He was an officer of the law, a _ detective _ with the NYPD, and yet he couldn’t move. In that moment he was just Castiel, a man who loved someone so deeply just to lose them. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, warm and wet. Or was it rain? Was it _ raining_? “Why did you do it?”

“I did it because you couldn’t,” the figure said. He raised the gun to Castiel.

“Who are you?” 

He was going to die. 

The figure pulled his hood down to expose a pair of glowing green eyes and a smile that looked like he was getting away with something. 

“Dean?” Castiel turned back to the man in his arms only to find a gun pressed to his forehead. The Dean from his lap turned his own gun on Castiel. He wasn’t dead after all. The detective couldn’t help feeling a breath of relief. “Why?”

“Because you made the wrong choice. Again.” 

_ Bang! _

Castiel sat up in bed, his heart racing. He looked immediately to Dean, reaching out to touch him, check his pulse. It was slow and calm. He was asleep. Cas swallowed deeply, closing his eyes. It was a nightmare. He let himself calm back down before he looked back to Dean. 

It was no wonder he was having nightmares about Benny. He decided after the death of his partner that he wouldn’t date again. The job was his husband and his child, it was everything. He would take down the criminals, do things by the book, and get the answers. It was guilt, he knew, that brought up the nightmares. It was the peace that Dean gave him that made Benny’s face pop back up in his mind. 

But Dean wasn’t like his old partner. It wasn’t a fascination that brought them together. It was something else altogether. It was _ real _. Cas looked at Dean and smiled. The man was beautiful, there was no denying that. His skin was flawless, peppered with freckles, but smooth. If Castiel could have imaged the most beautiful man he could, that man would have held nothing compared to Dean Wincehster. He was on his back, his arms crossed at his stomach. The white sheet fell just above his groin, the light hair going from his belly button down below the blanket was illuminated in the moonlight through Dean’s window. He was beautiful, and Cas could watch him sleep forever. 

He couldn’t believe that he told Dean that he loved him. It was crazy. It was too damn soon, and they weren’t a good match traditionally, but he loved him nonetheless. Castiel never allowed himself to be happy. It was too far fetched for him; it wasn’t a graspable goal, but after that night he could see it, not only professionally, but personally. He could be happy. Then looking at the sleeping man next to him, he could see it again. Dean Winchester could make him happy. 

He glanced at the clock on the side table. It was a little after five o’clock in the morning, and somehow he was wide awake. Perhaps all of those nights staying up lowered his need for rest. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he was able to truly make an arrest. Perhaps he just couldn’t face Benny's, empty, accusing eyes again. 

He licked his dry lips and slowly moved his legs off the side of the bed. He was as quiet as he could be to make sure that Dean could get some sleep. He would make coffee, and maybe wake up the sleeping Adonis for another round before work. He didn’t need to walk to make an arrest, that was why he had Sam. Although it would be awkward to explain why he was so stiff. Castiel was blushing in the darkness. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss to Dean’s forehead and whispered, “Love you.”

“‘ove ya too, Cas,” Dean grumbled in his sleep. 

He stepped back into his boxers and slid on one of Deans sweatshirts before pushing out of the bedroom, letting the door click shut behind him. He crept into the kitchen and started the coffee maker, thankful that Sam and Dean were as big of coffee junkies as he was. He watched the machine come to life out of its slumber and start to spit black liquid out. He eagerly grabbed a mug and stuck it under the spout. He always loved the beginning of a cup, when it was hot and as fresh as it could be. The burns on his tongue were worth the buzz he got immediately running through him, waking up his nervous system, and warming his chilled veins. 

He took a sip, and let the coffee take him over. “Mmm,” he hummed in appreciation. His eyes flickered to the living room. He didn’t get a chance to check out the apartment when he came before, so he figured there was no time like the present. He stretched his tired limbs, still tingling from his earlier orgasms, and carefully walked into the living room. 

His eyes scanned the books on the shelves. They had just about everything. _ Into The Wild, _Dickens, Edgar Allen Poe, and a large selection of True Crime novels. Castiel smiled. Sam had mentioned before that he always wanted to be a police officer. It was no surprise with the book selection in front of him. His eyes landed on Dean’s writing desk. He was desperate to look at what his boyfriend was working on. He hadn’t read anything Dean had written previously, and he was dying to see some of it. It was sort of a glimpse into the mind of the man he loved. 

His curiosity got the best of him, and he slowly approached the desk, as if expecting to get in trouble, even after what happened the night before. He smiled at the desk, because it was just as disorganized as he expected. There were papers scattered about, books stacked up high, hand written notes, newspaper articles, and previously typed pages from the typewriter. 

Castiel lowered himself to sit down in Dean’s chair. It was comfortable but firm, good for someone sitting for long hours typing away. He ran his fingers along the edge of the black typewriter. There was something unbelievably romantic about the concept of Dean typing in low light, writing love letters to Castiel. He smiled to himself. He knew he shouldn’t, but he tugged the page out of the typewriter to take a peek. 

_ Dear Detective Novak, _

His blood ran cold. 

_ Dear Detective Novak, _

_ There are a lot of people that deserve to be hurt, Detective. Surely you know that by now. There won’t always be people that you can catch. People are devious; they’re too well versed in lying and sneaking. Don’t all of the criminals deserve to be punished? I know that you would sleep better if they were, and I want to know that you’re sleeping well, Detective. You always look so tired. _

_ I am sorry that you didn’t get a chance to prosecute Metatron yourself, but he was a terrible man. He left his wife to die alone on the floor. No matter what I’ve done, I would never leave someone to die alone. _

The letter fell from Castiel's hands. It was wrong. It had to be. It was for the article, a mock up of what the letters were like. He frantically shuffled through the pages on Dean’s desk. He turned and knocked over the stack of books, sending them falling onto the carpeted floors of the apartment. Castiel crouched and picked up the books one at a time. His fingers stalled over a black leather book. He left the others on the floor and stood slowly. 

_ The Holy Bible _

_For Dean love, Mom_. 

Castiel swallowed hard, and he prayed. He didn’t believe in God, but damn it he prayed that the pages were in tact. He prayed that it was all a cruel joke and that there was an explanation. 

He flipped through the pages before he lost his nerve. He flipped to a verse that he remembered, from the Crowley case. _ The Lord is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life - _ _ of whom shall I be afraid? _He’d read that page a hundred times at least. It was seared into his brain, burned behind his retinas. He flipped to the appropriate place in the Bible, and ran his fingers along the crease. Along the ripped, jagged edge.

The page was gone. 

  



	6. Revelations

** **

**Part Six- Revelations **

_ “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelations 21:4 _

* * *

* * *

“Hello, Sweetheart.” 

Castiel looked up from the Bible and met Dean’s eyes from across the room. “Hello, Dean,” he said carefully. 

“Smelled coffee. Why you up so early? Bad dreams?”

Cas pressed his lips together. Dean looked different in the dark, in the shadow. Castiel couldn’t make out his face, it was obscured by shadow, the only light coming from the lamp next to the typewriter. Castiel was bathed in warm light from the lamp. Dean had to see the Bible in his hands. 

They stared at each other in the darkness, waiting for each other to make a move. Dean stepped out of the hallway into the light. His expression was soft, his lips turned into a disappointed frown. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out, Cas.” 

Castiel tried to choose his words carefully. He knew the situation was fragile at best. He had been around killers before, and if he could’ve guessed the way his encounter would go when faced with the biggest murderer of his career, the situation in front of him wouldn’t have even made the list. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip; it was dry and cracked from the winter air. “And how did you want me to find out, if I can ask?”

“Cas, of course you can ask,” Dean said, stepping toward him. “I wanted you to find out when you were ready to know. You aren’t ready, Cas, you have to know that. I wanted you to see the gift that I was giving you, that I was giving everyone. I’m ridding the world of evil. The men were a plague, and I eradicated them.”

“Dean… you killed them.”

“I brought them to justice.”

Castiel pressed his lips together. “That isn’t justice. The _ law _ decides justice.”

“You were so heartbroken, Sweetheart, I just couldn’t sit back and watch. You don’t do that when you love someone. When you love someone you fight for them.” He was rambling, his eyes squinting, but he was still unbelievably calm. It was as if he couldn’t find the words. “I saw you that day outside of the courthouse after Azazel’s trial. You did everything right and it didn’t matter. The system is broken. The angels are gone, Detective. They’re gone.” He was getting emotional, his ears welling up with tears.

Castiel stepped closer to Dean. In that moment they weren’t enemies, they were just two men who were tangled together moments before. His stomach ached. He loved Dean. “What do you mean, Dean?”

“I saw what they did with my mom. She didn’t get any justice. I couldn’t let that happen, not again. Not to anyone else.” Dean closed the space between them, taking Cas’ hands in his own. The reality of the situation snapped around Castiel in an instant. He recoiled from Dean’s touch. “You’re mine, Detective. I wouldn’t ever let anythin’ happen to you. I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?”

He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. “Does Sam know?”

“He wasn’t ready, either. He is just a kid. It’s my job to protect him. I’m his brother.”

“I have to take you in,” Castiel said suddenly. If Dean wasn’t going to hurt him, there would be no need for cuffs, no need to make a scene. “Will you come willingly?”

“Right,” Dean said with a nod. “You have to bring in Duma today. I knew you’d want to go in early. I had plans, ya know, about when this finally happened. I’d make you breakfast in bed, and you’d relax for fuckin’ once. Better be glad I think you’ll look dignified with wrinkles, Detective.”

Castiel frowned deeply. “Dean, I’m not going to bring in Duma. She didn’t do it. I need to bring _ you _ in.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to call Sam?”

“Why would I call Sammy?”

“To tell him. He will be surprised when we come to the precinct, won’t he?”

“I go there all the time,” Dean Winchester said as he batted his beautiful green eyes. 

“Dean, get dressed,” Castiel said carefully. He couldn’t tell the game that Dean was playing. Dean seemed like he wasn’t all there. He looked confused. He looked _ different_. Castiel reached one of his arms over to the other and gave himself a quick, but hard pinch. It hurt. He wasn’t dreaming. Was Dean in denial? Was he having a breakdown? Maybe he was hoping for an insanity plea, which, from where Castiel was sitting, was a real possibility.

“Sure, Cas. You sure you don’t want another round before work? Heard it’s good for your health.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“I think we’ve run out of time.”

“Damn, you’re right. I should’ve woken up earlier.” He leaned forward and placed a kiss on Castiel’s cheek, causing chills to run down Cas’ spine. “I’ll meet you back out here?”

“Sure,” Castiel said carefully. His body was stiff, and he was painfully aware that he was in his underwear and a shirt of Dean’s. He needed to change. His stomach tugged like he was going to lose it. He had to be ready to go when Dean came out of the bedroom, in case he got violent. 

He turned and scanned the room, finding a discarded pair of jeans by the couch. He picked them up and slid inside, getting into his shoes and coat. He holstered his gun in the back of his pants, all the while listening for Dean’s bedroom window to open, in case he tried to make a run for it. “Let me grab a coffee, and we can head out,” Dean said, shrugging into his coat. “Damn.” He paused, looking Castiel over with a smile. “Sweetheart, you look _ so _sexy in my clothes.”

“We don’t have time for coffee, Dean,” Castiel said, wishing he had his handcuffs with him. Dean’s behavior had his discomfort increasing rapidly. 

“I got it, Cranky,” Dean teased, as he put the lid on his mug. “You aren’t fun in the mornin’.” 

They left the apartment in the snow and walked toward the precinct. If Dean was talking, Castiel didn’t hear any of it. All he could hear was the soft footsteps in the snow. He could feel Dean’s presence like a moth to a flame. He was shining so bright that Castiel imagined he would be able to find him even in the darkness. He could feel Dean next to him, and the cold metal of his weapon in the back of his pants. He was grateful that the precinct was so close. 

It was getting closer to six o’clock in the morning, and the evening shift was still staring at the papers on their desks trying desperately to stay awake. No one noticed Castiel and Dean walk through the front doors. He led Dean to the interrogation room, his fingers curling around the door frame. “Have a seat in here.”

“Sure thing,” Dean said, eyeing the room. “Are we going to do a sexy detective criminal role play?”

Castiel pursed his lips. “Just wait here, Dean.” 

“Hey, you good?” Dean touched Castiel’s shoulder. 

“Just get in the fucking room, Winchester!” 

“Fuck, okay.” Dean's hands flew back. “I read ya loud and clear, buddy.” He looked a little hurt. The door clicked shut behind him, and Castiel turned to the trash can next to him and vomited. 

Dean was the killer. Dean was the killer. Dean was the killer. 

He could still see the letter typed and stuck in the typewriter, the pages missing from the Bible.... he could hear the _ Hello, Sweetheart _. He threw up again. His arms wrapped around the trash can as if he was hugging his father's leg, begging for attention. 

“Woah, did you drink too much? Because if you went out celebrating without me we are going to have words...” 

“Charlie?” He looked up, tears streaming down his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Captain Singer is getting in early today, and I have to be where he is.” She crouched down next to him, pressing her palm to his forehead. “Fuck, Cas, you okay? No offense, but you look like shit.”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m not okay.” 

“What happened?” She asked, rubbing his back gently. 

“I...I can’t,” he gasped. It was too much. 

“Shh, hey. You can. Look at me.” 

He did.

“You’re the strongest guy I know. You look danger in the face daily and tell it, _ come at me_. That’s strength. Did you and Dean...” 

He didn’t hear her question, because at the sound of Dean’s name he was vomiting again. “Can you go to my apartment?” He asked her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I need clothes.” 

“You got it.” Charlie nodded quickly. “Let me go get Sam... he can...” 

“No. I’ll get him in a little while,” Castiel said frantically. He wasn’t ready. He needed more time. 

“Okay.” Charlie nodded, grabbing him a water bottle from her bag. “Take this. Sam’s in the break room. He was asleep when I got here. He looks pretty damn cute sleeping, for such a tall guy.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind when I wake him,” Castiel said with a pained smile. 

“I’ll be back soon.” She pressed a kiss to the top of his head and ran off. 

He stopped throwing up after what felt like forever. He stood up and walked to the two-way mirror. Dean Winchester sat with his hands flat on the table and stared directly at Castiel as if he could see him through the glass. He could’ve sworn that Dean wasn’t even blinking. He felt rotten in his own skin, with the smell of Deans sheets sticking to him, his sex still fresh on Cas’ skin. He wanted to strip naked and scrub until he bled. 

Castiel felt like a fucking idiot. He wasn’t cut out to be a cop. He should’ve been a botanist or maybe a janitor, something where lives weren’t on the line, at the very least. He hadn’t known it was Dean when he was right under Castiel’s nose the whole time. _ In his bed. _If he’d had anything left inside of him to vomit, he would have. He was empty, in the most complete sense of the word. He pressed his palm to the glass. 

“The people who walk in darkness will see a great light. For those who live in a land of deep darkness, a light will shine. Isaiah 9:2,” Dean murmured, continuing to stare impossibly at Castiel through the glass. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Psalm 23:4.” 

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked no one in particular. 

“Detective, I know you’re out there,” Dean said slowly, carefully. He clasped his hands. “It’s rude to leave a guy hangin’.” 

Castiel closed his eyes. 

“The grace of the Lord Jesus be with God’s people. Amen. Revelation 22:21. There is no grace with God’s people anymore, Detective. I think you know that. Give me a pen, Cas, and you’ll see. I sound better on paper.” 

His ears almost perked up at the sound of his name. When he opened his eyes, Dean was in front of him, his hand touching Castiel’s through the glass. “I never lied to you, man. Don’t leave me alone in here.”

Castiel pressed his lips together as Dean rested his forehead against the glass, and his forearm above it. He looked handsome with his eyes almost gray from exhaustion, and his hair still tussled from bed. His chin and cheeks were covered with prickles of hair since he hadn’t had time to shave. He looked disheveled in the way that a man always does after he is ravished. 

_ “You really love me, Detective?” _Dean asked, as he hovered over Castiel, his lips only a breath away.

_ “I do.” _

Cas felt Dean’s fingers run along his arm, and then Dean tangled their fingers together, pinning Cas’ arm above his head._ “I never thought someone like you could… could love someone like me.” _

_ “Someone like you?” _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ “It was always you,” _Castiel whispered, leaning up to kiss him again. 

“It was always you,” Dean echoed Castiel’s thought. “I saw you in that bar, and I hit on you. I don’t make a habit of hittin’ on men in clubs when I’m supposed to be helpin’ Sammy, but I think I knew. You’ve got a way about ya, buddy.”

Castiel was captured by Dean’s words. The gruff of his voice was still against Castiel’s throat in his mind, _ harder, faster, fuck I love you. _He didn’t realize he was walking until he pushed open the door to the interrogation room and was face to face with Dean again. 

“Cas,” he breathed with a relieved exhale, like he was a balloon deflating after a child’s birthday party. “I didn’t think..” 

“Do you know why you’re here, Dean?”

He needed to get another detective. It wasn’t appropriate for him to work the case any longer, but he couldn’t make himself move. 

“You want to talk to me about the murders,” Dean said slowly, carefully. 

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you.” He nodded. 

“Do you want to contact your lawyer? You have the right to one.” 

“I don’t want a lawyer, Cas. I wasn’t lyin’ in my letter when I told you that if you forgive me that I will make it to heaven. You’re the only person I need to convince. Maybe once you hear it, you won’t want to keep up with this. Maybe we can just go back home and get into bed. I know that’s where you’d rather be, Sweetheart.” 

_ I don’t think I can forgive you. _“Have a seat.”

Dean walked back to his seat and lowered himself in it. “What do you want to know?” 

“I want you to tell me the truth. Did you kill Fergus Crowley?” 

“He got what he deserved, Detective. Did you know that he was going to continue? I talked to Krystal. He was going to kidnap more women to sell and if they fought back he’d kill them. Do you really think he didn’t deserve what happened to him?”

“That wasn’t what I asked you, Dean.” 

“I just want you to understand.” 

“My opinion means nothing here. There is a right way and a wrong way,” Cas’ voice was strained, his throat stinging from the vomit, scratchy and pained, but nothing hurt more than how it felt to look at Dean. 

“According to who?”

Castiel gripped the back of his chair. He knew he should sit, but his legs were buzzing. “I didn’t even know you were religious.” 

“I’m not.” 

“The Bible verses? The angel wings? If you’re not religious…” 

“God doesn’t give two shits about us anymore, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t _ right. _If his soldiers aren’t doing their job to punish the wicked, then we have to. Mom said angels were watchin’ over us, but no one was watchin’ over her. I wish there’d been someone like me out there when she was killed.” 

“Did you kill Fergus Crowley?”

“If I answer that you will leave. I’ve seen Law and Order.” He tilted his head to the side inquisitively. 

“You want to talk to me,” Castiel said slowly, as the reality settled in. It was Dean’s game, and he had no real stakes in that could let him win. No matter what Dean had to say, Castiel would lose. They both would. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” _ Why can’t you just let this be over? _

“I always wanna talk to you.” He gave one of those big grins that made the skin around his eyes crinkle, the kind of grin that got Cas’ heart racing, but it was racing for a different reason this time. 

“Say whatever you want to say, Dean.” 

“You don’t want to talk to me?” Dean asked, his bottom lip poking out in a pout. “I thought what we had was more than all the bullshit, Detective. I thought it was real.” 

“Detective Novak, I have your clothes.” Charlie's voice came over the intercom in the interrogation room. 

“I’ll be back,” he said sharply before exiting the room, feeling Dean’s eyes on his back the entire walk to the door. 

“What the fuck?” Charlie asked, her eyes wide in shock. She held Castiel’s clothes folded in her arms. “Please tell me that you are doing some kind of roleplay in there, and not what it looks like.” 

Castiel looked around and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the single stall bathroom. “Lock the door,” he instructed. She followed the instructions and he peeled off Dean’s sweatshirt. 

“Jesus, Cas,” she commented on the hickies covering his chest, stomach, and thighs when he wiggled out of his jeans. He shot her a look, and she put up her hands in surrender. “Sorry, explain.”

He slid into his gray slacks and buttoned up the deep blue shirt that she picked for him. “He did it.” His voice sounded completely defeated and forgein even to his own ears. 

“What do you mean?”

“He is the killer, Charlie. He murdered those people.” 

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t think it, I _ know _it. I was at his place, and I found a typed up letter just like the ones I received at the crime scenes. A Bible with the pages ripped out... he did it. It was Dean.” 

“Shit. Does Sam know?”

“Dean said he didn’t tell him.” 

“But did you?”

“I haven’t had the chance.” 

“But you’re interrogating him? You’ve arrested him without his brother knowing? Without your partner knowing?” She handed him a polka dot tie. 

He wrapped it around his neck and began to tie it. “I haven’t arrested him. He seems… off.” 

“Yeah, he’s a serial killer, Cas!” She exclaimed, completely perplexed. 

“I told him I loved him last night,” he admitted quickly, needing to purge it from his system. 

Charlie dropped Castiel’s belt. It clattered to the floor. “You did _ what_?”

“I was walking to his apartment, and I just couldn’t stop myself. I looked at him and _ fuck_.” Castiel turned and sent his fist flying into the stone wall. He cried out in pain, but the sting of broken skin on his knuckles centered him just enough to get it together. “I’m in love with him.”

“Oh, Cas,” Charlie murmured, reaching for his hands, but she refrained from taking them. “Are you sure it’s him? Maybe there's an explanation.” 

“Trust me, Charlie, I wish there were,” he said solemnly, bent down, picked up his belt, sliding it through the loops, and clasped it. “I need to talk to the Rookie. I’ve been stupid. I want the answers, but I don’t think I’m going to get the ones I want. I don’t think there’s any closure for me.” 

“I really thought he was the one,” Charlie said, looking down. “I feel like I pushed you two together…” 

“I thought he was the one, too,” Castiel admitted out loud for the first time. “But that doesn’t matter. He is just another criminal that I have to put away. I did say I was married to the job, makes sense that I would be attracted to a psychopath.” He unlocked the bathroom door, his back to Charlie. “I’m going to talk to the Rookie.”

“Cas, you can take a second,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “No one would blame you.”

“I don’t need a second,” he said, shaking his head. “All I’ve wanted was to find the son of a bitch who did this, and now I’ve got him. There’s no sense in letting emotions get in the way.” Castiel opened the door and pushed out into the precinct, running immediately into Sam Winchester. 

The Rookie was pouring himself some coffee, his eyes were red rimmed and his hair stuck up in the back from where he was sleeping peacefully on the couch in the break room. The sleeves on his plaid dress shirt were pushed up to his elbows. He didn’t know. Castiel was about to ruin his life forever. 

“Hey, Novak, good morning.” Sam glanced at his watch. “Damn, you’re here early. I thought I’d have a little more time to get presentable… but I should’ve known you’d be here earlier than we agreed.” 

“Rookie we need to talk.”

Sam looked up from his cup of coffee with a frown. “Sure, Cas. What’s up?” He grabbed another coffee cup and poured it for his partner. 

Castiel took it, even though the coffee was old, and even though he was jittery as all hell already. He took a sip out of habit. 

“Jesus, are you okay?” Sam asked, gesturing to the broken skin on Castiel’s knuckles.

“Let’s go somewhere private to talk.”

Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, okay. Lead the way.” They walked back to the evidence locker. Castiel unlocked the door and clicked on the light. The single fluorescent light buzzed angrily like a bee trapped behind glass. “You’re freaking me out, Cas. What’s going on?”

“We were wrong.”

“That’s pretty cryptic, wrong about what?”

“Duma isn’t the Angel Killer.” It wasn’t an official name, but it was a hell of a lot better than the alternative. 

“What? Did you find something else? I’ve been researching all night. She looks good for it…”

“Yeah, I found something,” Castiel said in almost a hiss through his clenched jaw. He felt sick. His stomach gnawed against the coffee he was suckling. It was better to keep it busy. Maybe he was just yearning to give himself something in his stomach to vomit up. He felt like he was going down a hill too fast, like he couldn’t quite get a grip on it. It was that empty, weightless nausea. 

“What was it? You weren’t supposed to be working, but I’ll let it slide if you got a lead,” Sam teased gently, trying to relieve some of the palpable tension in the air.

“I wasn’t working. I just came across the information.”

“What was the information, Cas? Are you feeling okay? You look a little green…”

Castiel pressed his lips together and looked up, his eyes meeting Sams. They weren’t as green as Dean’s, with flecks of gold in the center, but still familiar. The kid would never get past it. How could he? Dean was his older brother, his pillar, his light in the darkness. How was he going to feel knowing that the man he held in such high regard was a murderer? Probably just as bad as Castiel was, knowing that he slept with the criminal he’d been hunting. The man both of them loved was the man they were hunting. “It’s Dean,” he said suddenly, but quietly. His voice was barely a whisper, a withdrawal of smoke. 

“What?” Sam laughed, shaking his head. “What’s Dean? I know you guys are dating, Cas. You don’t have to be weird about it.” 

“That isn’t what I’m saying, Sam.”

“Okay, then what?”

“It’s Dean. Dean is the Angel Killer.” 

Sam raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean it’s Dean? That’s _ crazy. _I’ve never heard him quote scripture in my life. He doesn’t even own a Bible.” 

“He does, Sam,” Castiel said carefully. “I’m sorry. I don’t want it to be true, trust me.” 

“This isn’t funny, Cas. Is Dean hiding somewhere? He loves to pull pranks. Come on out asshole!” Sam looked around the corner of the shelves in the center of the room. They were alone. 

“It’s just us, Sam.” 

“Then you’re recording this,” he said stubbornly. “I can’t believe you let him rope you into this. You’re supposed to be the serious one.” 

“I assure you that this is no prank. I’m sorry, kid. I saw his Bible on his writing desk… it was missing all the pages we found at the crime scenes. He was writing the letter when I showed up at your place.” 

Sam stared past Castiel, and it was a moment before he spoke again. “Did you arrest him?” He asked quietly. 

“He’s here in the interrogation room. I wanted to talk to him first. I didn’t want it to be true.” 

“What did he say? Did he say he did it?”

“He said this wasn’t how he wanted me to find out about it.”

“But he didn’t say that he stabbed them? How do you know for sure? This is all circumstantial…” 

“Sam,” Castiel reached out and put his hand on his partner’s shoulder. Sam flinched, but didn’t move away. “I’ve done this for a long time. He did it. We need an official confession. I can get him to say it, but I thought you’d want to talk to him before he’s booked officially. I owe you that much.” 

“You’re wrong.” Sam’s voice broke. “You have to be.” 

Castiel smiled weakly at his young partner. 

When he started at the Sixty-Sixth Precinct, the older detectives always said that there would be one case that would make his career, one case that would change him forever. He had that case when he was a rookie himself, he fucked up and someone ended up dead. Looking at Sam, he knew that this was the kids case. Something was breaking inside the young detective right in front of Castiel’s eyes. There was no going back from a case like that. 

“He’s my brother.” 

“I know, kid.” 

“He… fuck. Can I talk to him?”

Castiel nodded and opened the door to the evidence locker and let Sam out. He walked to the interrogation room, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He was frozen in place. “You’re wrong,” Sam said again, to no one in particular. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself to turn the knob with trembling fingers. 

“Maybe,” Castiel said finally, even though it was a lie. The kid needed a push, and he had two hands capable of giving that to him. 

Sam turned away from his partner, opening the door to enter the interrogation room alone. 

“Sammy?” Dean said, standing up from sitting on the edge of the table. “I was expecting Cas.”

“Is it true?” 

“What do you mean?”

“_Is it true_?”

“Sam, I…” 

“Don’t, Dean,” Sam snapped, his eyes brimming with tears. “Don’t fucking lie to me. Don’t play like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” 

Dean sighed. “Sammy, you don’t remember this, but every night before we fell asleep mom would tell us that angels were watchin’ over us. It was a comfort, ya know? How could anything be bad when there are angels watchin’ over us?”

“I don’t remember that.” 

“You were just a baby.” Dean scratched the back of his neck with a fond smile that quickly melted away. “Where was the angel that was supposed to be watchin’ over her? She is dead, Sam. I saw her burnin’. Do you know what that does to a kid? I still smell her burnin’. I still hear her screamin’ under the roar of the flames. I still see her when I close my eyes… I blamed the police for a long time. Since they didn’t find who did it.” He sighed and shook his head. “But it wasn’t until you became an officer that I realized they’re angels, too.”

Dean walked to his brother and held his face in between his palms. “You’re a fuckin’ angel, Sammy. You watch over people the best you can, but your hands are tied. You can’t do God's work because the system is failing. You can’t find justice, but me… my hands aren’t tied, Sammy. I am not held back by _ anythin’_, not by a badge or a boss. I can help. Doesn’t that mean I have an obligation? I can fix it. I have to fix it.”

Sam stepped away from his brother, his forehead wrinkling. “Not that way, Dean. You aren’t God. It isn’t up to you or me to decide people’s fate. You aren’t God.” 

Dean’s hands fell to his sides as Sam moved away from his touch.

“I know that, Sam. There is no God. Not anymore.” There was a darkness behind Dean’s eyes. He looked empty, almost as if he was looking into the flames right then. 

“You killed them.” Sam swallowed hard. 

“The Lord saw how great the wickedness of the human race had become on the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time. The Lord regretted that he had made human beings on the earth, and his heart was deeply troubled. Genesis 6:5-6. God even knew that people were wicked, Sam. I am doin’ what He would want. I’m gettin’ justice.” 

“Dean, God is _ good_. The Bible says not to kill…”

“But Sammy, I saw you. You were so upset about the girl, Amara, about findin’ her killer. Then when I saw Crowley walk free; I couldn’t just let that happen. I couldn’t sit back while he hurt other girls,” Dean said almost desperately, walking toward his brother. 

“We were taught right and wrong, Dean. Our whole life… you have to know that this was wrong.”

“I was taught right and wrong, Sammy. _ Mom _ taught me. She read me the Bible before bed. So when I lost her I learned it, more and more, a little at a time, and the more I learned, the more I _ knew._” 

“Mom wouldn’t have wanted this, Dean. You can’t pretend you’re doing this for her… or for me.” Sam frowned, staring at his brother. It was like parts of Dean were peeling away right in front of him, and Sam knew, as desperately as he wanted Castiel to be wrong, that Dean did it.

“But Cas, man. He is the one. I knew that when I saw him. It was just gonna be Crowley, but then I saw him when Azazel walked. I already knew Azazel was bad. I invited him to the poker game, but when I saw Cas’ face… I knew he had to die. Do you know how terrifyin’ that is, Sammy? To see someone and to know that they are pure evil? You and Cas are good. I’m not. I never have been, but you are both my family. It is my job to get rid of the people in your way. To get rid of the evil. _ To find justice._”

“This doesn’t make any sense. It can’t be you,” Sam said, his hands shaking. His eyes flickered to his brother. “The morphine. _ Fuck_. I should’ve known. It’s what they used at the hospital with Dad. Did you steal it?” 

“He killed her, Sammy. You and I both know that.” 

“We don’t, Dean. We never did. He was a bastard… but he was our father.” 

“He deserved what he got.” 

Sam peeled his eyes away from the gaze that his brother had him stuck in. “You killed him, too?”

“Detective Winchester, get out of there _ now, _ boy! Don’t make me tell you twice_,_” Captain Singer’s voice boomed over the intercom. 

Sam stood up a little straighter and locked eyes with his brother one last time before he turned and exited the room. He could feel Dean’s eyes on his back even as the door shut. 

“You two, my office, _ now, _” Captain Singer said through clenched teeth. 

Castiel and Sam exchanged a look before following him into the cramped office. 

“Shut the goddamn door.”

Sam let the door click shut and braced for the skinning they’d get. He was used to it, growing up being John’s son, but there was something different behind their Captain’s eyes. 

“You two idgits better start talkin’, and you better make it real fuckin’ good, ya hear me? You better have a real good explanation for why you’ve got that boy in my interrogation room with ya.” He crossed his arms and watched Sam and Castiel staring back at him blankly. They didn’t have the words, at least not the ones that their Captain wanted to hear. “I’m missin’ birthdays here, boys.”

Castiel stepped forward. “It’s my fault, Captain.”

He raised a graying eyebrow. “The kid was talkin’ to him. Why?”

“When I was with Dean last night… I found some evidence linking him with the crimes of the Angel Killer.”

The Captain stood up a little straighter. “He’s a suspect?”

“He practically confessed,” Sam said through clenched teeth. 

“And you two just took it into your own hands? You decided _ fuck the law, I’m not gonna call for backup, I’m going to interrogate him myself_?”

“I don’t think we really thought it through, Cap,” Sam said like a little boy in trouble. 

“Novak, did you call for backup to arrest him?”

“No, Sir.”

“So you did it yourself?”

“No, Sir.”

“What am I missin’ here?” He asked, quickly losing his patience.

“I didn’t arrest him.” Castiel picked at the skin around his thumbnail. 

“You think he’s innocent?”

“...no.”

“Help me understand this, Novak. You found a criminal, believe him to have committed his crimes and didn’t arrest him?”

“It’s complicated Sir…”

“I know you’ve been havin’… relations with this man, and what you do on your own time is your own business, but if you two are right and he is a killer then you might have fucked this up. If he walks, I swear to God neither of you will ever work in this city again. Now go home while I figure out what to do with you.”

“Captain I’d like to stay… he is my brother,” Sam said weakly, still unable to truly grasp what was happening. Captain Singer looked at Sam, scratching his beard as if he was really thinking. His jaw was set, and it was pretty obvious to Sam that he was pissed. All that he knew, was that he couldn’t leave knowing what he knew. “I can answer any questions you have about him. Maybe I could be helpful.” 

His captain gave a big, heavy sigh before shaking his head. “I’ll probably regret this, but you can stay, Winchester, just give me your badge and gun. If you’re here, you’re here as a civilian.”

_ Later that evening _

“Hey,” Charlie said, lowering herself onto the stairs leading up to her apartment next to Castiel. He was sitting with his face in his hands. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling…”

He met the eyes of his friend, his own feeling bloodshot and swollen. “I found a liquor store, and I drank it,” he slurred. 

“Oh my.”

“I’ve been so fucking stupid.” 

“Hey, you’re not stupid,” Charlie said gently, her hand resting on his shoulder. 

“I am. How did I miss this? It was right in front of my face. What kind of detective am I if I missed _ this_?”

“None of us saw it.” 

“But I fucked him. I slept next to him…” 

“Sam lived with him, and he didn’t know,” she pointed out. 

“The kid is a rookie. He doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.”

“Right,” Charlie said, pushing her hair behind her ears. “What’s this really about? You were interrogating him outside of protocol. You’d never do that, no matter what.” 

“I needed answers.” 

“Bobby put Hanscum and Mills on it, they’re pro’s. They’ll get the answers.” 

He shook his head. It wasn’t the same. They were good cops, but they hadn’t been on the case. They didn’t _ know_. 

“Cas,” Charlie said, treading lightly. “It’s okay to miss him, to be disappointed.” 

“I’m only disappointed that I didn’t see it sooner.” 

“So you could save yourself the pain?”

His head snapped to hers, his vision blurred, from the alcohol, or maybe the tears that stung his eyes. “No, to save people from being _ murdered. _What kind of self centered person do you think I am?” 

“I don’t think you’re self centered. I don’t think you’re self centered at all, actually. Not even enough to mourn for the man that you love. You should mourn, Cas. It’s okay to be devastated.” 

“I’m not devastated,” Castiel snapped. She wasn’t understanding. It was all a lie, it had been from the beginning. Killers always got close to the head detective in their case. Dean managed to insert himself right in the middle of the investigation, and Cas didn’t even notice. Charlie would never understand how sick it made him. “He killed three men. Four, most likely. His father’s death was suspicious… I’m just...” He sighed in frustration, curling his hands into fists. “I’m not sad. I’m pissed off. I’m furious.” 

“Okay,” she said, a slight irritation in her voice. “It’s okay to be furious. He lied to you.” 

“He is a murderer, Charlie! That’s it! I let him get close to me, distract me so he could kill people! I didn’t notice, and I will never be able to forgive myself for that. End of story.” He stood up, wiped his sweaty palms on his gray slacks and pushed out into the white, snow speckled evening air, leaving his badge and gun on the steps behind him. 

_ Six months later _

“This is a collect call from the New York State Prison, will you accept these charges?”

“No.” _ Click. _

It had been six months since Dean Winchester was arrested. Six months since he confessed to all crimes. Three counts of premeditated murder. 

It had been six months since Castiel hopped in a cab and took it to New Jersey to visit his brother Gabriel. He was hiding. Hiding from his job, from his partner, from New York, from the guilt, but most of all he was hiding from Dean. 

It had been six months since he’d had a nightmare. The only demon he had left to face was himself.

He received one letter a week since Dean was incarcerated. He didn’t open any of them. Dean called and called, but Castiel never agreed to speak with him. 

Since the weather had warmed up, Castiel was gardening out behind Gabriel’s house. Despite living in the city his whole life, he was doing surprisingly well. He stared at his blank phone screen that read _ Call Ended, _his hands still dirty from planting his tomato seeds. 

“Want a beer?” Gabe called out from the house. 

“Okay,” Castiel said, wiping the dirt from his palms onto his jeans. 

His brother popped the caps off the beers and met Castiel halfway, his arm extended. “He call again?”

“Why do you ask?” Castiel asked, putting the bottle to his lips.

“You always get that look when he calls.” 

Cas sighed against his beer bottle. “He won’t take a hint.”

“Why don’t you block the phone number?”

Why didn’t he? “I don’t know.” He looked down the neck of the beer, as if the answer was in the foam. 

“Maybe you should go see him. Seems like you didn’t get any closure.”

“It feels pretty final to me,” Castiel said, tipping the bottle back to his lips again. 

“Come on, little brother. You don’t have to lie to me. Have you talked to Sam?”

“On and off.” 

Gabriel scratched his chin. “What does he have to say?”

“I told him I didn’t want to talk about Dean,” he sighed. “Bobby gave him a pass, and he’s on probation, but he’s still working in homicide. He says he misses his partner, but I told him I’m done.”

“You can work at the comedy club with me.” Gabe wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m working on an act right now that includes some close-up magic.”

“As exciting as that is,” Castiel said through clenched teeth, “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here.” 

“You just planted a vegetable. You’ll be here for awhile.” 

“Tomatoes are fruit,” Castiel deadpanned.

“Right.” Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where will you go if you leave?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never taken a vacation in my life.”

“Oh trust me, I know.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “My point is… I don’t know where I will go. Anywhere else.” 

“You can stay however long you need to, brother.”

“I know. I appreciate it,” Cas said with a sigh. The condensation on the outside of the bottle mixed with the dirt on his hands. He reached down and wiped them on his jeans, leaving muddy, smeared handprints on his thighs. “I don’t mean to be such a burden.”

“Are you kidding me? My house has never been this clean.”

“I believe that.” He laughed dryly. 

Gabriel took a swig of his beer. “Charlie’s been calling for you. Are you going to ignore her forever? I think she will come out here eventually if you do. I can only keep her at bay for so long.” 

“Did you tell her I was here?”

“She knows.” 

“How?” Castiel narrowed his eyes at his older brother. 

Gabriel shrugged. 

“You told her.”

“She is hard to say no to.” 

“You were bested by a girl.” 

“Hey,” Gabriel snapped. “She is more than a girl. She’s inhuman.” 

Cas snickered. “Don’t I know it,” he sighed again and stared at the bubbles dissipating inside of his bottle. 

“You’re not going to feel like this forever. I know sometimes things feel pretty endless, but I’ve got it on good authority that eventually the bad shit stops.” 

“I don’t know how to make it stop.” 

Gabriel reached into his back pocket and pulled out a letter addressed to Detective Castiel Novak, and he placed the letter in Cas’ hand. “I’d start with closure. Shut the door and lock it, man, it’s the only way you’ll be able to really move on.” 

Castiel took the letter and stared at the familiar scrawl on the front of the envelope. It would match two dozen more that sat in a drawer in his bedroom, all unopened. He looked at the letter like an old friend, a temptation, a kiss stolen under the moonlight. He looked at it like it was from the Dean that he thought he knew, instead of a stranger in an orange jumpsuit. He looked at it like it was from a man that he loved in a different life, instead of the one that he loved in this one. Instead of the one that broke him. 

_ Two weeks later _

Castiel Novak didn’t dream while he slept. His unconscious mind was filled with a buzzing emptiness. He almost missed the nightmares. 

“No! Enough, Gabe! You can’t hide him anymore. This isn’t _ healthy_. He loves that goddamn job, and he’s a _ New Yorker! _ He hasn’t set foot in the city in half a year.” 

“I know that,” Gabriel said with a huff. “I’ve tried everything! I even put temporary purple hair dye in his shampoo a few months ago and he _ didn’t care, _Charlie. Do you get that? I prank him, I make jokes, and he just doesn’t fucking notice. He is a shell. This guy fucked him up.” 

“You’re protective of him. I know, because I am too. He’s my person. Let me help him.” 

“He doesn’t want help.” 

“Respectfully, I don’t give two shits what he wants. Now move out of my way, or I’ll _ make you move _.” 

It was no real surprise to Castiel when Charlie busted into his room not more than a minute later. She walked right to his bed and scooted in next to him, pulling his quilt over their heads. They laid on their sides, face to face, nose to nose. “Hey,” she breathed. 

“I knew you’d come eventually.”

“Are you going to make this hard or easy?”

“What do you think?”

“Hard it is.” She smiled widely. “Sweetie, I know you’re in a bad place.” 

“That’s an understatement,” he admitted quietly. It was hard to lie when it was just Charlie. 

“You miss him.” 

“No.”

She gave him a look, her eyebrow raised and her head tilting more into the pillow like _ fucking really? _

He sucked in his breath, feeling a sob threatening to creep up his throat before he nodded twice. “It feels really fucked up to miss him.” 

“We can’t help who we love, Cas. You’re a gay man, so I know you know that already.” Charlie wrapped an arm around him. “I can’t let you do this to yourself.”

“Do what?”

“Punish yourself. You’ve done enough, honey. You’ve done enough.” 

Castiel didn’t believe her. He couldn’t, but there was something in her tone that was painfully maternal. Something that made his heart ache. “He is sending me letters.”

“What do they say?”

“I have no idea. I can’t open them. They’re all in a drawer haunting me.” 

“Do you want to read them?”

“No,” he said, and it felt like the biggest lie he’d ever told. 

“Then why are you keeping them?” There was that look again. 

“Because… if they’re there then I can always change my mind and read them.” 

“Thank you.” 

“For what?”

Charlie put her hands on either side of Castiel’s cheeks and looked into his eyes. “For being honest with me for the first time in six months.” She forced a smile. “I’m mad at him, too. Especially for what he did to you and the kid.” 

“The seasoned detectives always talked about the one case that they could never get past. I was certain that it was Benny.” His voice broke from saying the name out loud after so many years. “I didn’t think anything could be worse than that, but _ this _. It has to be this, Charlie. I’m never getting past this. I am a ruined man.” 

“You aren’t ruined. You’re hurt, but we always keep fighting, Cas. It’s what we do. You get knocked down, and you get up again.” 

“Do _not_ say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

“I won’t say it, but only because I think you get the picture.” She moved her hands from his face and propped herself up so she was looking down at him. “What if Harry Potter decided that he couldn’t fight Voldemort because he was _ just Harry_? No matter how many times that you are knocked down you have to get back up. It’s up to you, and fuck it, it’s up to me, too.” 

“I don’t understand that reference,” he said with a desperate frustration. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know, Cassy, okay? It’s just the sentiment. I’m just saying, get back up, Rocky. You’ve gotta keep going. You’ve gotta try again, or you’ll never survive this.” 

Castiel ran his tongue along his bottom lip, wetting it, before he let out a shaky sigh. “Okay.”

“Great,” she said, brightly. “Now get up, take a shower and brush your goddamn teeth because your breath is disgusting.” She laughed, poking his nose. “It’s time, Cassy.” 

“I know it is,” he agreed, sitting up. 

Charlie hopped out of his bed and walked to his window, opening up the curtains. “We have to get you the hell out of Jersey, Novak, I’m serious. This is where joy comes to die.” 

“Don’t tell that to Gabe, he sells joy for a living.” 

Charlie laughed outright. “You clearly haven’t seen his show if you think he’s selling _ joy_.” 

“Touché.” 

_ Later that afternoon _

“Are you ready?” Charlie turned to Castiel in the backseat of the cab. 

“No.” 

She took his hand in hers. “You can do this, and afterwards we can get really, really drunk.” 

“I’ll take you up on that one,” Cas said sadly, squeezing her hand. “I hate you for making me do this.” 

“That’s okay. You can hate me.” 

“I don’t hate you,” he said, wrapping her in a hug. “Thank you for making me get up.” 

“I was worried that you’d get bedsores.” He could feel her grin widely against his shoulder. 

“We wouldn’t want that.” 

“You’re much too pretty for bedsores,” Charlie said pushing his too-long-hair out of his eyes. He was well overdue for a haircut. 

Castiel leaned forward and placed a kiss on her cheek. “You’re pretty, too.” 

“Quit trying to romance me, Novak. I’m not into all of _ that._” 

“Likewise.” Castiel laughed for a moment, before it stifled into a sigh. “I suppose I should go in.” 

“You _ are _ racking up the cab fare.” 

“Subtly does not become you, Charlotte.” 

“I brought a book. I’ll wait outside for you,” Charlie said, pushing him gently toward the door of the cab. 

“Alright, alright. I’m going.” He shut the door behind him, and walked the long walkway to the front of the jail. He signed in. He was searched and scanned.

He didn’t want to go, but somewhere deep inside of him he knew that it was the only way. He knew, if he couldn’t read Dean’s words, that seeing him could make a difference. It had to, because in the previous six months _ nothing _ had helped pull him out of the grief hole that he’d been buried in. 

The inside of the prison was gray and hollow like the emptiness within his own chest. He could hear the beat of his heart like the sound of a knock on a door. It echoed through him like the voices over the intercom inside of the prison. 

“Follow me,” the guard said, leading Castiel to the visiting area. He gestured to the seat at the far end. 

“Thank you,” Castiel said quietly before settling into his chair. One of the legs on the chair was uneven. He was leaning slightly to the left and every time he shifted his weight the leg clicked back down onto the tile floor. He stared through the fingerprinted glass and wondered when it had been cleaned last.

He was so distracted by the fingerprints of the longing that he didn’t see Dean approach, and suddenly he was there. He was handcuffed, and while Castiel could admit that he used to imagine Dean in handcuffs, it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t while he was in a gray pair of scrubs behind a fingerprinted glass. 

Dean was smiling, and he looked like he’d lost weight. Castiel could make out the point in his cheekbones and his jaw was more defined. He looked tired, with darkening half moons under his sparkling green eyes. His freckles looked less frequent across his cheekbones, and Castiel wondered if he had imagined the night sky across his boyfriend’s face, or if perhaps they’d truly faded like dying stars. Perhaps he’d been inside, out of the sun all of these months. 

Dean reached for the phone and tapped it, causing Castiel to almost jump out of his skin. He glanced at the phone. Was he really going to do it? He thought back to the dozens of letters in his drawer taunting him and picked up the receiver. 

“Hello, Detective.” 

“I’m not a detective anymore,” Castiel said flatly, his stomach flipping at the rough sound of Dean’s voice. 

Dean seemed to scoot in to be closer to Castiel, even though there was a table and smudged glass between them. “Why not?”

“It wasn’t for me.” 

His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “But you loved that job. You were good at it.” 

“Not good enough.” 

“You were always good enough.” 

They sat in silence, Castiel’s eyes flickering down to his lap. 

Dean cleared his throat. “You look good, Cas.” He smiled, changing the subject. “Very handsome.” 

Castiel stared at him. He didn’t know what to say. He felt like he was standing next to his body looking down at some sad sack. He wouldn’t be Liz Kendall pining after a serial killer. He knew what Dean did and no amount of flattery could erase those facts. 

“They said after the trial I may be able to move to a place with a view. A real view.” Dean smiled widely. “Maybe I could get some writing done… but ya know, I wouldn’t want to go too far from Sammy... from you.”

“It’s not like you have much of a say.” 

“Right, but I just meant… If I had a choice I wouldn’t try to leave you. I wouldn’t give up on us.” 

“Us?” Castiel shifted in his seat, the leg clacked against the tile. “There is no _ us_, Dean.” 

“Sure there is,” Dean said, blinking rapidly. “You love me and you’re… you’re family. Me, you, and Sammy are family. You don’t just walk out on family. Sure, it isn’t ideal, but all relationships have problems, right?” 

Castiel’s upper lip twitched. “This isn’t a problem, Dean.” 

“It isn’t? Fuck… that’s a relief to hear…” 

He put up a hand to quiet Dean before he spun out of control. “It isn’t a problem because there’s no us anymore. I can’t just overlook this. It’s over.”

“I… shit.” Dean’s fingers ran through his hair, his eyes flickering away from Castiel’s. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, man.”

Castiel’s heart leapt around his chest like a rabbit in a cage. It banged against his rib cage. He rubbed his sternum, trying to calm it. “And what _ did _you mean to happen, Dean?”

“Did you read my letters?” 

Castiel shook his head. “That’s why I’m here.” 

“Cas, you have to read them. Please.” His eyes were back up, his palm pressing against the glass. 

“No, Dean.” 

“I thought you liked the whole bad boy thing,” Dean joked with a glint in his eye and a shit eating smirk planted on his lips. 

“No,” Castiel said, clenching his fists. “I don’t.” 

“Cas, come on. I’m not some kind of psycho. You _ know _me.” 

“I don’t know you!” Castiel snapped. “I don’t know you at all. I _ thought _I loved you, but I was wrong. I was in love with who I wanted you to be. You’re a murderer, and I would never be with someone who is capable of that.”

Dean looked like he’d been hit, he recoiled, his face twisting in hurt. His hand fell back to his lap with a soft thud. “You’re wrong. What we have is real…” 

“It was never real, Dean. How could it be? Everything was a lie.” 

“Not everything.” 

“That’s what it looks like from where I’m sitting.” Castiel swallowed and the leg of the chair scratched angrily against the tile. “Stop calling me. Stop writing me. Just let me go, Dean. If you care like you say you do, you’ll let me go.” 

Dean sucked in his breath like he took a blow to the gut. As Castiel turned to hang up the phone that connected them, Dean reached for the glass again. He pressed his fingers against it longingly. “Just read the letters, Cas. I explained everything… if you read them you’ll see.” 

Castiel shook his head. “I burned them,” he said as he hung up the phone. 

_ Two hours later _

“This should be illegal.” Castiel complained into his whiskey glass. 

“You love it,” Charlie said, holding her microphone in her hand as she tried to sing along with the words on the screen. “Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” 

“Just because you’re a redhead does _ not _mean it’s required to sing Ed Sheeran.” 

“Us gingers have to stick together, Cas, don’t you know? Shit, you got me off the words umm…” 

He laughed, a good hearty laugh and damn did it feel good. 

Being a queer man meant that Castiel Novak was not unfamiliar with pain. It lived inside him from the moment he realized he was different, to the moment he moved out of his house when his father couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. The pain grew less and less the older he got. When he became a detective, the pain was almost gone completely. He no longer carried shame like an extra weight around his middle. He was comfortable with himself. 

The pain had returned, but it was no longer his sexuality that plagued him. It was Dean. The way his heart ached for Dean was crippling. The moment he came back to New York, him crept back through the cracks of Cas’ carefully built walls. Seeing him at the jail didn’t help matters, and all he could hope for was that time was on his side. That the theory that all wounds eventually healed would be true in his case. 

In the meantime, he had whiskey, and a bartender with a heavy pour. 

He jingled his empty glass and the bartender filled his glass. “You’re a good one, Tom. Don’t ever forget that,” he slurred gently. 

The bartender winked at him, making his cheeks warm up. _ Nope. No more relationships for you Castiel. You are celibate. You’re a nun. A priest. You’re not hooking up with anyone else! Plus, he isn’t Dean. _He tried to shake off that thought as Charlie abandoned the rest of her song and waltzed up to him. 

“The stage wasn’t ready for me.” 

“Sure wasn’t.” 

“Charlie! Hey!” A familiar voice said. 

Castiel turned slowly, the whiskey in his veins weighing him down like wet clothes. He didn’t need to turn to know who the voice belonged to, Cas could pick the kid out of a line up blindfolded. “Sam.” 

“Cas, hey.” 

Eileen waved, her arm through Sam’s, and his eyes flickered to her as he signed, _ nice to see you_. 

_ Same _ , she signed back with a smile, _ are you okay_? 

Castiel shrugged lightly at her before his looked back to Sam. He’d spoken to him in the last six months, but seeing him was a completely different situation. The whiskey that had settled in Cas’ stomach began to churn angrily. “Rookie, want a drink?”

“He’s not a Rookie anymore, Cas,” Charlie said with a grin as she sipped on her rum and coke. “Isn’t that right? Our little boy is all grown up!” 

The kids plaid shirt was tucked in, wrinkle free, but his sleeves were still pushed up to his elbows. He looked fucking exhausted, his hair a new level of shaggy, and his jaw sported a thickening beard. He wasn't sure what he expected to see, part of him thought that time stood still while he was at Gabriels, but the biggest part of him expected to come back to a completely new city. The pieces of his life that stuck and the pieces that changed were almost so minuscule and random that it left him completely unsettled. 

“I guess not,” Castiel said. “A lot has changed since I’ve been away.” 

“Are you coming back to work?” Sam asked, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. His body language was discomfort, but his eyes told Cas a completely different story. They were hazel, but glinting a strong green against the green plaid in his shirt, and they were focused. It had to be a trait that he’d picked up from his brother. Dean was the only person that Castiel had ever known to hold such an intense gaze, that sometimes he thought that Dean could see right through his skin and into his soul. 

“I don’t think so, kid,” he said, gripping his whiskey glass like it’d keep him from drowning. 

“We miss you around there.” 

“It’s just not right, not anymore,” Castiel said before taking another swig of his drink. The room was seconds from spinning, so he closed his eyes and tried to center himself. That didn’t last long, though. It was hard to hide from Dean when his face popped up every time Castiel closed his eyes. _ Hello, Detective_. Chills ran up his spine, and he sat down his glass. 

“The trial is next week,” Sam said, running his fingers along the outside of his beer bottle, rubbing designs into the bottle’s sweat. “Are you going?” Sam looked at Castiel like he wanted something from him, like he expected Cas to fix every problem that he had with one simple _ yes _. 

Castiel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The kid was looking at Cas, like he was sure that he looked at Dean. “I don’t think so, Sam.” 

“It would mean a lot to me to have some familiar faces, and I know it’d mean a lot to my brother.” 

Castiel stood up from his seat and swayed a little, his hand catching the bar top to steady himself. His eyes settled on Sam’s chin, _ Dean’s chin _. The way that he talked, tilting his head to the side, was all Dean, and Cas couldn’t fucking take it anymore. “Sam, I don’t mean to be rude, but he doesn’t deserve me being there.” 

“Sweetie, don’t,” Charlie said, putting her hand out, but he gestured it away, his eyes not leaving Sam’s. 

“He broke my fucking heart,” he said, his voice cracking, breaking into pieces. “I shouldn’t have to go and watch that. It’ll hurt too much. It’ll hurt too fucking much.” 

_ One month later _

“Where are you going?” Gabriel asked, leaning against the door frame to Castiel’s room. 

Cas looked up at his brother from his open suitcase. “I need to start over, Gabriel.” 

“I know.” He nodded with understanding in his eyes. Gabe was always such a child, but he was there when Castiel needed him. There wasn't much else that he could ask for in a brother. 

“I think I’m going to California. I just need to be somewhere else. A different coast, a different time zone.” 

“You can’t run forever.” 

“I’m not running,” he sighed, laying down the shirt that he was folding. “At least I’m not trying to. I want to be happy again someday, and I don’t think I can do that here. There’s too much history. It’s smothering.” 

“I understand.” Gabriel nodded and moved from the door, opening his arms for a hug.

Cas met his brother’s embrace, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing tightly. “Thank you for everything.”

“Thanks for leaving me with a goddamned garden. Don’t be mad if you come back and they’re all dead,” Gabriel said, giving him a squeeze before releasing him. “Don’t be a stranger. You have my number.” 

“I do,” Castiel agreed with a nod. 

“Alright, well I have a rehearsal for the show tonight. We have to go through light and sound queues. Will you be gone tonight?”

“I think so.” 

“Are you going by the trial on your way out? They’re determining the verdict today, right?”

“Are they?” Castiel asked dumbly. “I hadn’t realized.” 

“Hm.” Gabriel shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong. Call me when you land.” 

“I will,” he said, watching his brother leave. 

He walked to his desk and pulled out his papers and his pens. He wasn’t an extravagant man, and he didn’t own many things, but the things he owned were his. He’d lost enough, and he wasn't prepared to part with anything else, no matter how small. 

He opened up his last desk drawer and stared at the pile of white envelopes. _ Detective Castiel Novak. _ He sucked in his breath and pulled them out. Writing love letters long hand always sounded so romantic, but staring at the letters seemed like something else altogether. It felt daunting, heavy. He closed his eyes and pressed the letters to his chest like a hug. _ Dean_. His mind called out like it was second nature, and he lowered himself down to a seated position on the end of the bed. He stared at the letters, willing his x-ray vision to absorb the information without making his hands rip the envelopes open to truly expose their secrets. Once they were open there was no going back. 

_ Fuck it_. 

He tore open the one on the top, his heartbeat racing at the sound of paper ripping and his finger running along the inside of the envelope. He pulled out the page and unfolded it. 

_ Dear Detective Novak, _

_ Hey, Cas. I’ve been staring at this page for an hour trying to decide what to say. What could I say that would make a difference? I don’t have that answer, but I know I’ve always been more articulate on the page, so I will take what I can get. I’ve made a mistake, Sweetheart. I fucked up. I let my impulses get the best of me. The same way as when I kissed you back in the alley. I knew it was right, in my gut, so I did it. _

_ It was the best kiss of my life. I thought I got high off that kiss. That kiss changed me. You changed me, even though I’m sure you won’t believe that. I know what I look like to you, I just want you to understand… life is full of disappointments. Dads who drink way too much and beat you stupid for wearing a pair of pink panties, even though a girl dared you to do it, and Moms who die. They burn alive and no one bothers to find the answers. The bad guys get away. I couldn’t let that happen to anyone else. I couldn’t let it happen to you, because you’re good, Cas. You’re better than I’d ever be. I know that because I am shitting in an open room with three other guys, and you’re out there living your life. _

_ You deserve that life, Cas. I just hate myself for removing myself from that situation, because we could’ve had a life together, you know? The kids, a dog, the whole nine. I would’ve liked that. I’m sure you don’t believe me, but I do love you. I don’t say that shit lightly, Cas. I love you, man. You’re the one. You were always the one. _

_ Dean _

_ Dear Detective Novak, _

_ Hey, Sweetheart. I got some yard time today, and I just kept thinking, damn that sky is blue just like my blue eyed angel. Looking up at the sky reminded me that I’m under the same sky that you’re under. That gave me some kind of peace, man. I never thought I could handle jail, but knowing that you’re out there helps. _

_ I know you don’t approve of my methods, Cas, but it isn’t all bad. Krystal visited me the other day, and she thanked me for killing Crowley. I didn’t do it for the thanks, but some of those girls are going back to college and their families! That’s a win, right? We have to take all the wins we can get. I hope you aren’t too mad at me, Detective. I couldn’t stand it if I lost you forever. _

_ But I figure nothing too bad can happen on a day where the sky is this blue. It’d just be wrong, and there’s enough wrong in this goddamn world, so I’ll take the good where I can get it. The sun on my face, sriracha ramen from the commissary, and you. _

_ Dean _

_ Dear Detective Novak, _

_ So I’ve been thinking about first loves lately. I know, what a hard prison thought to have! I better not let the boys here find out that I’m made of cotton candy or I’ll be a bottom for sure, and I’ll only bottom for one guy, you hear? _

_ Anyway, I was thinking about first loves. I always thought my first love was this dame Lisa from high school. She did cheer and yoga, and damn it if she wasn’t flexible. She was nice and funny (sorry, not trying to make you jealous. I’ll get to the point), but no matter what she had going for her, she didn’t make me feel a quarter of what I feel for you. I always thought at almost thirty I would be too old to have another first, but fuck, if there was anyone before you I don’t remember them one bit. _

_ You light me up, baby. I promised myself I wouldn’t shit out a bunch of clichés, but you do that to me. You make them sound good. Damn it, you make everything sound good. Maybe it wasn't our time, Cas. Maybe it was fate, the fault in our stars, or maybe it was just me. Maybe I fucked it all up, but I think in another life it could be us. It will be us, because this isn’t something that just happens, you know? _

_ This is real, Cas. It has to be. _

_ Dean _

_ Dear Detective Novak, _

_ I love you with all the stars in the sky. I love you like I love pie. I didn’t say it enough, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for that. I’d give it all up just to hear you say you love me one more time. Damn, I sound like a chick. Forget I said anything. Write me back, even just to tell me how gay this all sounds. Anything. I miss hearing from you. I miss your dry humor and your shitty attitude. I just miss you, ok? _

_ Dean _

Castiel was in the car before he knew it, his suitcase still open on the bed. He still clutched the letters in his hand for dear life as he backed out of Gabriel’s driveway and headed toward the city. Toward _ him_. He needed answers that not even a dozen letters could give him. 

Dean was a monster. No, Dean was a man, nothing more or less. Men make mistakes. Some are forgivable and some are not. Castiel didn’t grow up believing in God, despite his angelic name. Castiel meant shield of God in Hebrew, so it was no real surprise that someone desperate for justice came to fall in love with him. 

Perhaps it was wrong for Castiel to love Dean at all. Perhaps that love was long gone, as he had assured Dean the last day he saw him, but how could he know for certain if he didn’t see him one last time? Gabriel talked about closure, and Castiel knew, as the space closed between himself and New York City, that he had never gotten that closure. It wasn’t about slamming the door shut on Dean Winchester. It wasn’t about seeing him in that prison and knowing that he did the things that Castiel was most afraid of, it was about another end altogether. It was about saying goodbye to Dean and his feelings for Dean. Castiel hadn’t said goodbye, and this would be his last chance. If he hadn’t missed it already. 

He got out of the car blocks away from the courthouse, knowing he wouldn’t be able to find anything closer. He shoved the letters in the back pocket of his slacks, and he ran. He ran, pushing past other people on the street. He could hear his shoes smack the concrete, the scratch of the chair against the tile in the jail, Dean saying his name in the darkness, and the beat of his heart in his chest. He pushed harder. “Get out of my way!” 

It felt like the end of a romantic comedy, like he was running to break up a wedding or to confess his love. Except this time, there would be no confession, no wedding, and all Castiel expected was pain. He expected it to hurt, to watch him be led away in handcuffs, but he ran toward Dean anyway. 

He half expected to find himself trapped back in that endless nightmare cycle that he’d been in over and over again, only to wake up next to Dean, but there was no rain on his face, the sun was out, and the walls weren’t closing in. Reality was so much worse than his nightmares. 

The streets were crowded with onlookers, with protesters, with reporters. It was bustling, even more so than the usual New York City bustle. He pushed past the people to the tape separating the walkway from the crowd. Across from him he locked eyes with Sam, Eileen, and Charlie. He could see Charlie mouth his name, yet he heard nothing but the door from the courthouse opening. 

Next to him the reporters called out questions, with their recording devices stuck well over the line, obscuring Castiel’s view of Dean. It was over. There was a weight in the air. An armed officer held one of Dean’s arms handcuffed behind his back. He wore a suit, and his collar stuck out from the neck of his suit, and Castiel’s heart squeezed at the image. Sometimes, Dean seemed like such a child, and when he turned and the sunlight glinted in the green of his eye, he looked hopeful. Fuck, he looked innocent. 

Dean smiled when his eyes caught Castiel’s, bright and big. His left shoulder lifted a bit as if to wave, as if he’d forgotten that he was chained. As if he’d forgotten that he and Castiel weren’t the only two men on the street. _ Hi, _Dean mouthed with a wink. Castiel was still angry, but in that moment his stomach flipped. There was something about the wrinkles around Dean’s eyes when he smiled, they made Castiel dizzy. They made him a little hopeful, too. 

It all happened so fast. 

It always does, doesn’t it? The day turning to night, falling in love, _ dying _all happen in a blink. 

Dean was still grinning in a way that was stupidly beautiful, even as his eyes widened in shock. His body jolted backwards a bit, his shoulder hitting the guard to his left from the impact. He was knocked completely off his feet, and Dean was usually so steady. 

A gunshot is not an unfamiliar sound to a detective in the NYPD. With the point he was at in his career, Castiel could easily tell the difference between a firework, a car backfiring, or a true gunshot. He’d shot many at the gun range, heard them in the field, and shot many rounds of his own weapon, sometimes at targets, sometimes at people. He was taught to shoot to kill, don’t give the motherfuckers a second chance to attack. 

So when Castiel heard the bang echo off the buildings, he didn’t hesitate. Perhaps it was instinct, or maybe it was the way Dean’s eyes had lit up when he caught Castiel in the crowd. 

Cas leaped over the tape separating them, and the guards sprang into action, raising their own weapons. He managed to push behind them and catch Dean seconds before his head hit the ground. “Fuck,” he whispered, looking up at the ex-detective.

Castiel moved his eyes from Dean’s face to his bleeding abdomen. “Oh my god.” It looked like it hit an artery. A red rush of blood, like a dam being broken.

“Shit, does it look like that scene from The Shining?” Dean asked with a dry, strained laugh.

“Shut up,” Castiel murmured, putting pressure on the wound.

“Cas I...” He gasped out in pain as Castiel applied more pressure. Maybe to help, or maybe to just get him to be fucking quiet for once. 

“Just focus on not dying, okay?”

Dean nodded with a wince, as if that was going to be tough. 

Castiel could feel the heat of the sun on his back as the guards moved toward the crowd. 

“You don’t understand!” A woman cried out. “He is a murderer! He killed my husband… my sweet Lucas. He was… he could be a monster… but he was mine. I loved him.” Her voice seemed to come from nowhere in particular. Castiel closed his eyes. 

Mrs. Azazel. _ Of course. _Castiel would never forget his interview with her. He wondered if she had Stockholm Syndrome with how much she defended her husband against his actions towards their daughter. He felt sick. When he opened his eyes Dean was looking up at him. His face was growing more and more pale by the moment. 

Dean’s blood was seeping through Castiel’s fingers. His hands were slick with it. No amount of pressure was enough. He could hear the sirens from the ambulance coming, but it wasn’t fast enough. Everything was in slow motion. 

It was all so slow, but in another way it was instant. 

Castiel didn’t feel the pain. It was more like a pinch, a mosquito bite against his back. Another shot rang through the air, and it sounded like his mother’s prize vase shattering into a million pieces on the tile floor. He held his position on his knee to keep Dean in place.

He always thought he would’ve made an excellent soldier. Castiel Novak was a good man in a storm. 

“Somebody take her down, for God sakes!” Castiel commanded. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t an officer anymore or that he was no one's superior, his presence demanded respect wherever he went. 

The crowd was a wild mass of hysterical screaming. Sobbing. But Castiel was calm. His eyes were focused on the freckles on Dean’s cheekbones alone. Suddenly he believed the theory about angel kisses causing more freckles. He could leave a thousand.

“Detective, you’re bleeding”

“I’m fine, barely grazed me. Just stay awake for me, okay? Keep your breathing steady.”

“You were shot. I got you shot.” Dean's voice was shaking. It was a rough whisper as the blood continued to pool on his abdomen. His shoulders pulled forward as he seemed to try to reach out, but his hands were still chained in place. 

“You didn’t do anything. This isn’t on you,” Castiel said, forcing a smile. “I’m good. Trust me. You’re the one bleeding all over the place. You always have to be the center of attention, don’t you?”

“You know me, a real attention whore.” Dean smiled a bit, despite the blood that trickled down the corner of his mouth. “You came.”

“Don’t be inappropriate. We are in public,” Castiel said through clenched teeth. It was a poor attempt at a joke. He clutched Dean’s wound with one hand, his other under Dean’s head. 

“You love it,” Dean gasped, and closed his eyes.

He did. “Hey, hey look at me.”

“Don’t gotta ask me twice,” Dean said, his voice hoarse. “I never get tired of lookin’ at ya. Those fuckin’ blue eyes.”

“It’s just you and me, Dean. Okay?” Cas said, gasping from the stinging pain that danced up through the wound on his back. His hands were shaking. 

“Detective?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t cry for me, okay?” Dean asked, turning his head to place a gentle, tear-soaked kiss on the inside of Castiel’s wrist. “We always get what we deserve. I always knew it would end like this for me. I’m goin’ out like an outlaw, and you can’t cry for an outlaw, Detective,” he said, his voice barely a strained whisper. 

Castiel dipped his face down to Dean’s. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” he whispered before pressing his lips to Dean’s one more time. Cas kissed him slowly and deliberately, like a last confession, until the pain and the darkness overtook them both. 


	7. Corinthians

** **

**Epilogue - Corinthians**

_ “Let all that you do be done in love.” 1 Corinthians 16:14 _

* * *

* * *

The light stung Castiel’s eyes as he came to. He could almost hear Dean’s voice echoing in his head. _ “Don’t go into the light, Detective. We still have so much more to do.” _ He smiled to himself, wincing from a morphine headache. He was _ alive_. Maybe there was an angel looking after him after all. 

“Shit, he’s coming to.” 

Castiel squinted as the colors around the room slowly started to make a more defined picture. Sam Winchester leaned over Castiel’s bedside, blocking some of the fluorescent lights that were screaming at him. “How are you feeling?” Sam asked him gently. The kid looked like a goddamn wreck, his hair messy and pushed back with one of Eileen’s stretchy fabric headbands. His eyes had deep circles from lack of sleep, and his shoulders were weighed down, slumping from some invisible force that seemed to push them down, but despite all of that, he was smiling. 

“Rookie.” He smiled up at the tall Winchester. Even with the sleeplessness heavy on Sam’s lids, his eyes were kind. “What happened?” 

Sam’s face faltered, his dimples disappearing back into his cheeks. “I uh… you were shot, Cas.” 

“What?” Castiel frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. He could feel the skin wrinkle on his forehead. His mind was fuzzy; it was a thick blanket of snow, cotton in his ears, screaming underwater. “I don’t…” He tried to sit up, but his body felt heavy, like his legs were weighed down. Perhaps the nurses gave him too much morphine. 

“Hey, just lay back,” Sam said, placing his hand on Cas’ chest to slowly lower his torso back to his bed. “Don’t push anything. Maybe I should get your nurse.”

“Sam,” he said, gripping his partner’s shirt in his hand. “What happened?” He could see Dean’s smile burned into his retinas, but he seemed far away, _ distant_. 

Sam sucked in his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. He composed himself, trying to find the words. “You and Dean… He was shot and you jumped in after him. Fuck, you laid right over him.” 

“He was shot?” Castiel dug at the cotton, at the water inside of his mind, desperate to grab onto anything solid. 

“Yeah,” Sam said softly. 

The heart monitor next to Castiel started beeping angrily, fast and loud. The door swung open and a nurse in a set of deep maroon scrubs came through. “Mr. Novak, are you feeling okay?”

_ He was shot and you jumped in after him. _

_ Don’t cry for me, okay? _

“I can’t.. he can’t. Oh _ god_.” He was hyperventilating, his heart threatening to rip right out of his chest. He held it, clawing to get to it, to let it out of its cage. He couldn’t take it anymore. It was too much. Too much.

“Mr. Novak, can you hear me?”

“Cas?” Sam asked, alarmed. 

“No, no, no,” Castiel gasped. 

“Mr. Novak, I’m going to give you something to relax, okay?” She pulled a syringe out of her scrubs and injected it into his IV tube. It was seconds before Castiel drifted right to sleep. 

_ Later _

Castiel was alone when he finally woke up. His mouth was dry and his eyes were heavy. He tried to sit up, but it was hard. His body still felt weighed down. 

He rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times. The curtains were drawn, and he couldn’t tell day from night. He ran his tongue over his lips, but everything was so goddamn dry like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. 

He remembered Sam being there, but it was foggy, like a dream. He tried to grasp it, to remember, but it was all so far away. After some work he managed to pull himself up to a seated position - well, mostly seated. He wasn’t straight up, he didn’t have enough pillows. He grabbed at the string behind him to click on his lamp. It illuminated the room in a low, orange glow. 

_ “Ya like sunsets, Detective?” _

_ “Why?” _Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow at Dean. 

_ “Just makin’ notes.” _

_ “Notes for what?” _

Dean shrugged, his lips pursed in a smirk. _“Birthdays, anniversaries, you know, romantic shit.” _

_ “Dean Winchester is a romantic? I wouldn’t have guessed.” _

_ “Don’t tell Sammy, he won’t ever let me live it down,” _he said, lacing his fingers with Castiel’s. 

_ “I suppose it can be our secret.” _

_ “Good. Secrets make things exciting. Sexy. Don’t you think?” _

Castiel clamped his eyes shut, still seeing spots in his vision from staring directly into the bulb as it clicked on. He squinted, looking around the room for any sign that he hadn’t dreamed Sam up. That he hadn’t dreamed it all up. 

There was a pillow and blanket stuffed in one of the chairs and several discarded coffee cups in the garbage. The real kicker, though, was a white envelope next to his bed. 

Castiel reached for the envelope, stretching over the bed railing. He grabbed it in a huff and held it in his fingers. It clearly had been folded and transported in Sam’s pocket. It was crinkled at the edge, and the pencil on the front was smudged, but he could still read it clearly. _ Detective Castiel Novak. _He sucked in his breath, considering tossing the letter away for good. He ran his fingers over the scrawl, his heart aching, and he made a split second decision to rip open the envelope. There was no time to waste, not anymore. He flattened out the page. Dean’s handwriting met him like an old friend. 

He always thought that love letters were a thing of the past. Who would write him one? He wasn't Lady Windemere waiting or her lover to write back, he was a _ man_. He was a grisly, angry, closed off smoker who couldn’t let love in, even if it broke down his door. He wasn’t the person who received love letters, but still, he had two dozen in his coat pocket somewhere. Still, he had one there in his fingers. Dean Winchester was the only person who found him charming and sweet, to him, Castiel was worthy. He just hated that it took him so long to realize it. 

_ Hello Sweetheart, _

_ I asked Sammy to give this to you if you came to the trial. I know that was hard to do. I didn’t want you to see me like that... in chains, detailing out all that I’ve done. I didn’t want you to see me like that, because I know it’d hurt you. Selfishly, though, I wanted to look out and see you there. You said it was over, Cas, and I heard you loud and clear. You never loved me, but I love you. So you deserve to know the truth. The big, the bad, and the ugly. _

_ Growing up, Mom told me that angels watched over me. Me and Sammy. The whole house. We were safe, because of the angels. Then she died. My mom was my hero, and losing her changed everything. I watched my father spiral. He grabbed Sammy and I in the middle of the night, put us in the back seat of the Impala, and drove. I never saw that house again. _

_ When I was old enough to make a phone call, I started looking around. I needed to know if her killer was found. I needed justice, something more than what I had. There was nothing to gain. It was a cold case, and there were no leads. _

_ The angels were taken from me, Cas, and so were the police. There was no one to help me. No one except for me to protect Sam. How was I supposed to deal with that? So I started to pray. I was angry. I didn’t understand how a good person could die and a bad one could go free. It wasn’t fair. _

_ My mom had this Bible. She used to read me stories from it before bed, so when everything was falling apart, and when I had nowhere to turn to… I pulled out her Bible, and I read. I read the whole damn thing, Cas. That’s a big ass book, with some really small text, but it had a lot to say. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. Maybe someone to blame for it all. All the bad in the world. It couldn’t be God, because I don’t think he’s around anymore. I don’t think he has been for a long time. He left the angels in charge, and they fucked up. They dropped the ball. _

_ I kept looking, outside of the Bible, anywhere really. Then I read about Raguel. He’s an Archangel, the Archangel of Justice. He fights injustice caused by sin so people can live in harmony with God and with each other. Well, I figured that he wasn't around either. He shit the bed, you know? It’s not your fault people have been getting away, Cas. Not yours or Sammy’s. There are no more angels, don’t you get it? I had to step in. I had to do Raguel’s job. _

_ It was what I thought was right. There’s a fine line between good and evil, and sitting here in a concrete room, well I guess I’m really starting to realize that I’ve been dancing that line. I know you think I’m all bad, and I can’t blame you. I didn’t exactly talk through my thought process with you. I tried to explain it with the Bible verses and the letters, but it wasn’t enough. I was a coward. I fucked everything up. _

_ When my dad was sick and dying, I confronted him about Mom. She was going to leave him. He was a sick bastard, and turns out I wasn’t the only one that he used as a punching bag. She was going to leave, and if he couldn’t have her, no one could. So he set her room on fire. He was wasted, and he killed her. _

_ I didn’t go in that room planning to kill him, one of the nurses left the morphine out, I saw it, and I just snapped. The next time they gave him a dose he was gone. He passed peacefully in his sleep. It wasn’t even half of what he deserved. _

_ For a long time, I didn’t think there was anything that felt better than revenge, but I was wrong, Cas. You. Being with you felt better. I felt more worthy at your side than I ever did in my entire life. I wasn’t lying when I said that your forgiveness was all I needed. I saw life in your eyes, a life that I never thought I’d have. I saw the fucking suburbs, cookouts, antiques… fucking whatever. Hell, maybe even a cat? I don’t know, Cas. If you wanted it, I’d probably say yes. I wanted that apple pie life for the first time when I met you. _

_ You see, I believe that in this life we are only allowed one love. One big love. One great love. Just one. I doubt that I am yours, in fact, I hope I’m not. I ruined it, just like I ruin everything, but I think you should know that you’re mine. You’re my one. When I close my eyes, you’re what I see. You and those damn blue eyes. You’re mine, Cas. I know you don’t want me, but maybe if you’re reading this, then maybe you do. There’s no place for me in your life now, but I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for the pieces you already gave me. _

_ All I wanted was to make you happy, to do the right thing. Guess I’m not too good at that, but maybe I’ll get another shot in another life. You know, sometimes I can see it. I know the Bible doesn’t believe in reincarnation, but fuck, it sounds nice. Doesn’t it? A do-over. I think I’d like that for us. _

_ I had a dream the other night, Cas. It felt so fucking real. I was in Hell, chained up. I was being tortured and everything seemed so fucking glum. Then there was this light. The demons were screaming, because damn it they hadn’t seen any kind of light in centuries- maybe ever. Then the light was blocked by a big beautiful set of wings. It was you, Cas. You grabbed me and you raised me from perdition. You wrapped your arms around me and flew me the fuck out of there. You thought I was worthy, even just for that second, and I woke up gasping. I wish it was real, but I know there aren’t any second chances. _

_ Not for a guy like me. _

_ Dean _

The letter fell to the floor. It was more than what he wanted. More than he could’ve asked for. It was the answer, the truth. He needed to find his phone to call Sam. He looked around the room and found a plastic bag of his effects on a table against the wall. He was alone and fuck it if he was going to wait for a nurse. He felt fine, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed to get up and grab his cellphone. 

His feet touched the cold floor; he could feel it through the socks the hospital had provided. Slide proof socks were required against the tile floor. He was in pain, but he was able to stand tall. He walked the short distance and grabbed the plastic bag, pulling it open. His blood soaked clothes had been shoved in, and he had to dig around to find his cell phone. The letters were bloody, speckled with red. He pulled out his phone and dialed Sam.

At least that was what was supposed to happen. 

He tried to move his legs to the side of the bed, but nothing happened. “Shit, I must be out of it.” Castiel rubbed his face before focusing again. Nothing. He pulled the blanket off of his legs, exposing the bare skin and yellow hospital socks. He focused on his feet. _ Move. _ Nothing happened. _ Wiggle your toes. _Nothing. He leaned forward and pinched his thigh as hard as he could. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. 

_ Months later _

Learning to live without the functioning lower half of his body was a long running struggle for Castiel. The doctors were optimistic that he would get some feeling back, but that optimism had yet to be fruitful. He learned how to move himself from the bed to his chair, then from his chair to the toilet. It was all so much harder than he would’ve ever imagined. Getting dressed was a chore. _ Life _was a chore. 

He was shot in the spine and all of his movement over Dean assured that he would never walk again. The only reason he was able to stay awake during his injury was the pure adrenaline that pumped through his veins. His life as he knew it was over. 

The city gave him a medal for his heroism, and he threw it in the garbage. That wasn’t the reward that he wanted. 

He did manage to get a street level apartment with a ramp (score) and a brand new roommate. 

“I don’t want your help, seriously.” 

“I know, Cranky. Jesus, but don’t yell at me when you drop the remote or something,” Charlie said, her hands up in the air. “I’ll be in my room watching Star Wars. Don’t bug me unless you’re going to cosplay. There’s no room for half-assed behavior in this house!” She whipped her cape around her as she entered her bedroom. 

He wheeled himself to the window. He had been in the hospital for a month. He’d had several surgeries to try to correct his condition. Castiel had a complete spinal cord injury. There was no going back from that. It was late September by the time he left the rehab hospital. 

Sam and Eileen visited him frequently. Sam was a surprisingly good cook, and he liked to come over and commandeer Castiel’s kitchen. Charlie never minded, while Sam cooked, she’d sit with her feet resting on Castiel’s thigh. She was always touching him, like she expected him to fly away. He kept reminding her that it was much harder for him to run away from her now. She didn’t find his paralysis jokes funny, but he thought they were the only way to move forward, at least that’s what the self help books that were always lying around his doctor’s office said. 

His legs weren’t the only piece of himself that he was missing, though. He missed Dean, even though he’d never admit it out loud. No one talked about him, but his absence was like a breeze. It was always there, gently tugging at him. He hadn’t gone to visit, because it was too damn hard. He didn’t want to face the truth until he was more stable. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be, but there was no rush. 

After the shooting, Sam and Eileen tied the knot. Life was too fleeting. It could end in a second, as they’d quickly learned. They went to the courthouse and made it official. Castiel was the witness. It was one of his approved outings from his therapy. The nurse that came with him cheered and cried behind him. It was insufferable, but the rookie looked happy. They were a little short on happy then, so Castiel smiled, despite how badly it hurt. He had to take what he could get, even if it included throwing rice and eating copious amounts of cream cheese mints. 

He was the first to learn about Eileen's pregnancy. _ “You’re like a brother to me, Cas. You’re my family. I wanted you to know.” _As the seasons changed, she got larger. The happy accident clearly took place before the shooting, but losing a brother gave Sam a little perspective. There was no time to wait. 

When little Hailey was born, Castiel didn’t go to the hospital. He couldn’t be there. There were too many memories. Especially knowing that he had been there sleeping, sedated, when Dean was rolled out of the emergency room. He didn’t even get to say goodbye. 

Castiel lost weight and most of his clothes fit him loosely, but Krystal still smiled at him widely and pulled him into a hug when he met her for coffee. 

_ “You look amazing Detective!” _

_ “Please, call me Castiel.” _

_ “Of course.” _She blushed._ “Castiel.” _She settled back into her seat across from him. She looked different outside of the club. She wore a sweater and her hair was back in a braid. _“Thank you for meeting me.” _

_ “I was surprised you called.” _

_ “I wanted to… well I wanted to talk to Dean, but…” _

_ “Of course.” _Castiel cut her off. 

_ “I know what he did was terrible, Castiel. I don’t condone killing, but Trixie was my friend. He saved all of us. He was a good man.” _Krystal held her coffee in her hands, steam traveling up to her face._ “I wish this had ended better for him. For you. I can’t thank you two enough for what you’ve done for me.” _

_ “I’m sure he’d be happy to hear that. He told me that you came to see him before the trial. He was proud that you got out of your situation.” _Castiel offered her a smile, but looking at her hurt. It hurt worse than the phantom aches in his legs. When he looked at her, he saw Dean._ “I apologize, but I have to go.” _He sat some cash down on the table and backed out in his chair. 

_ “Castiel!” _She called after him. He turned to look at her, over his shoulder._ “I could tell.” _

_ “Tell what?” _

_ “He was in love with you. I could see it from a mile away.” _

_ “So could I,” _Castiel agreed, quietly._ “It was nice seeing you again, Krystal.” _

_ “You, too.” _

A knock came at the door, and Castiel didn’t bother looking. He was watching the first few flakes of snow sprinkle the city with white. “Come in.” 

“Hey,” Sam said as he poked his head in. “You ready to go?”

Castiel watched the snow dance around the streets through the window. It made him think of Dean. Everything made him think of Dean.

_ “Take that off,” _Dean instructed. 

He raised an eyebrow._ “Take what off?” _

_ “Your coat. I know this place is small, but we do have heat, ya know.” _

_ “Of course.” _Castiel removed his coat and hung it on the rack next to the door. 

_ “Now the shoes.” _

_ “Shoes?” _

_ “They’re wet and covered with snow.” _

The last day of snow he remembered was the day he had told Dean he loved him. 

Castiel was going to go visit Dean for the first time since the shooting and everything was different now. 

“Don’t forget to pack warm, it’s outside.” 

“I know it’s outside,” Castiel snapped before sighing. He rubbed his face. It wasn’t Sam’s fault. “Sorry, kid.” 

“It’s okay,” Sam said, walking to his old partner. He rested his hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezed. 

Castiel's heart ached in his chest. He wanted so desperately for everything to be different, but it wasn’t. It would always be this way. “Do I look okay?” He asked Sam, self conscious. 

“Very dapper,” Sam said, offering a dimple-filled smile. “Not that it matters what you wear,” he added gently, just as a reminder, as if Castiel could ever forget.

He wore a pair of slacks and a plaid button up, his shoulders held up his blue suspenders, even though he didn’t need them anymore, and a blue tie hung around his neck. 

_ “Detective, you should only ever wear blue. Blue or nothing at all.” _

He felt silly trying to look good. _ Not like Dean is going to care_, he thought sadly, but yet he made sure his pants were flattened and his feet were properly placed facing forward. “Did you make sure they have wheelchair access?” 

“I did. I spoke to the grounds keeper, and they assured me that we would have no problems.” 

“Great.” Cas smiled, letting out a breath. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind grabbing something for me?”

“Sure.” 

“There’s an envelope on my desk in the bedroom.”

“Got it,” Sam said after disappearing into Castiel's room. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

It seemed frivolous, considering everything, but Castiel had decided to write Dean back. It was all he’d been begging Castiel the entire time he was imprisoned. He considered, as he wrote it, how things could’ve been different if he’d written it months before. It was pointless, though, because he hadn’t. 

He’d penned out everything he wanted to say, some parts a few different times. The paper was sprinkled with salty droplets of water, but there was no use trying to throw the pages away and start over. Every draft had them. 

Sam handed him the envelope in the car, and Castiel examined it one last time before they arrived. His wheelchair was folded in the back of the car, and he sat strapped into the passenger seat. He ran his fingers along the words. It wasn't enough, but it was all he had. 

_ Dear Dean, _

_ I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I’m sorry for a lot of things that I’ll never be able to say to you. I’m sorry that I didn’t try to help you when you needed me. I’m sorry that my love for you was so easily pushed away. I lied that day in the jail. I lied to you and worst of all, I lied to myself. _

Castiel had worked on the letter from the day he came home from the hospital, when he stopped sulking, and when he realized that there was no fucking point of being able to stand if Dean wasn’t there to knock him off his feet. It was pathetic, but it was true. 

_ This isn’t easy for me to write, I hope you know that. I’m not soft. I’m not some Victorian girl pining after a man, wishing for a love letter. I don’t do these kinds of things, but, nonetheless, you should know the truth. _

He pictured giving Dean the letter a thousand times. He pictured every way he’d be able to, every chance he could’ve had, and he pictured the reality. 

He could see himself handing Dean the letter in the rain. He wouldn’t read it, just pull Castiel to him. _ “Detective, I don’t need to read it. I already know what you said.” _ Then they’d kiss. They always knew how to do that. He could see himself giving it to Dean on the steps of the courthouse when the court finally agreed that he was wrongly accused. He’d stand on the steps, thin and beautiful, his freckled face turned up to the sky to take in the sun. He’d take it and read it right there, before ripping it up. _ “Cas, it doesn’t matter what happened in the past. It’s over. There’s no sense in living in it.” _But mostly, he pictured himself wheeling himself through the snow, like he would do after the hour long drive they were taking. He would wheel himself through the snow, toward a polished piece of marble. He’d touch Dean’s name and the day of the shooting, and he’d set the letter in the snow. He’d say he was sorry, even though he was only saying it to himself, the stone, and the snow. 

_ I’ve never told anyone those three words before. Never. I was choosy. I’d seen people fall apart in relationships. I didn’t want that to be me. I was married to my job, and I liked it that way. I had no friends, besides Charlie, and my life was a train on a constant track, looping circle after circle. But with you? It was easy. It was obvious. You made me happy. I didn’t have to think about it. I thought I had the answer to all of my problems and all I wanted to do was tell you about it. I’ve never had that before. So, it’s safe to say that I didn’t handle things well. I apologize for that. _

Sam turned the car into the parking lot. Everything was blanketed in snow. The world was white, and it made the stone exteriors look magical. Everything seemed quiet, muted. Castiel was left to his thoughts as Sam put on his gloves to retrieve Castiel’s wheelchair. 

_ I read your letter. If that wasn’t clear at this point. I liked what you said about reincarnation. Do you think we will get another chance? Maybe somewhere else in time? I’d like that, Dean. I’d like to meet you again. I liked your dream. It was sweet and funny, though I don’t expect you intended it to be humorous. Do you really think that I’d be the angel in that scenario? I’ve got to tell you that was charming. You’re very charming, Dean Winchester. I wouldn’t raise you from perdition. It’d be you; you’d raise me. I was in Hell before I met you. My life had no meaning. I was mindless, following the life that was laid out to me, doing only what I was told. I never questioned anything, but with you I questioned so many things. I’m still questioning them, and I’m afraid that I won’t ever get the answers that I’m looking for. _

The air was cold. It stung Castiel’s cheeks as Sam pushed him through the powder-like snow, over the gravel and up to the iron gates. Dean was back there, and knowing that gave Castiel more chills than the winter air did. He sucked in his breath, and Sam leaned down to look at him. “It’s not too late to turn back,” he reminded Castiel through an exhale of white fog. 

He knew that. Of course he did. They could turn back and get coffee and he could pretend like everything wasn’t broken. He could pretend, but there was no life in denial. He’d been avoiding facing the pain inside of him for too long, and he never would be able to heal until he took that step. Metaphorically of course. He gripped the arm rests on his chair and shook his head. His eyelashes were speckled with snow. “Let’s go. I’m ready, Rook. Don’t let me overthink it.”

“You got it, Novak,” Sam said with a smile. He opened the iron gate, and it groaned in response. 

_ I want to let you know that I got hurt. I know you saw the blood, but it’s a little worse than that. I can’ t move my legs. Paralyzed. Isn’t that the way it goes? Now I can’t run away from my problems. Not yet, at least. I have to learn to get faster in the chair. Maybe I can get the kind that they use at the Special Olympics to play basketball. Those are fast, right? Charlie hates it when I make paralysis jokes, but it feels good to laugh. When I lost you, I never thought I’d laugh again. I think you’d laugh, though. You always laughed at my jokes, even when you shouldn’t have. Maybe that’s what love is. I don’t know. I’m still learning. I think I’ll spend the rest of my life learning. _

Sam went through the motions. He pushed Castiel when he couldn’t push himself, and helped dry off his wheels so it wouldn’t rust. They made small talk with the other people they encountered, even though Castiel couldn’t bring any words to his mouth. It was too dry. His heart was pounding in his chest. All he could see in his mind's eye was the stone. Sometimes it had _ killer _scrawled over it in blood red paint. Sometimes it was bare. No flowers. No footprints in the snow. He wasn’t sure what was worse. 

“Wait here,” Sam said, wheeling him into the courtyard. It was in the snow. There was a little bench and a table covered in snow. It was completely gated in. 

“I’ll be here,” Castiel said helplessly. 

_ I’m sorry about your mom, Dean. I really am. I wish you would’ve told me more about her. Sam said it was hard for you, that you never really got over it. I’m sorry that I didn’t notice. I never had a family until you and Sam. He’s really taken me in, you’d be so proud of him. He’s like the younger brother I never wanted, in the best possible way. I’ll take care of the kid. I know that’s what you’d want. _

_ Dean, I’m just sorry. I know I can’t say it enough. There will never be enough time. Never enough words in the world. I just wish I could’ve had the time when it was there for the grabbing, but instead I’m writing this letter. It doesn’t sound as good as yours. I’m not a writer. I analyze things. I find clues. I always thought I’d be the one to solve the cases, become Captain someday when Singer retired, but the last year has proven something very important to me. _

A door against the back wall opened. Castiel squinted into the snow, the wind blowing around just enough to obscure the figures coming out of the door. 

A guard held onto his arms behind his back as he lead him out. “You’ve got twenty minutes.” 

“Thank you,” a voice echoed off the stone in the courtyard. A click and a jingle released his arms. He turned to face Castiel, and his face softened. He frowned, his nose crinkling as he seemed to examine the wheelchair, then his eyes met Castiel’s, and he smiled. The bright smile that Cas loved so much. 

_ Nothing ever turns out the way we expect it to, but I guess that’s okay. All relationships have problems, right? _

“Hello, Detective.” 

_ Love, _

_ Castiel Novak _

“Hello, Dean.” 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Something More Than What I Had](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20806037) by [cryptomoon art (cryptomoon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptomoon/pseuds/cryptomoon%20art)


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